A Series of Completely Unrelated Events
by sisirongana
Summary: Morrigan/FCousland one-shots, each based on a song from playlist shuffling. Because you know Morrigan would still probably go for a female Warden if you made her attractive and mean enough and there weren't game restrictions. It's lonely in the Wilds.
1. Chapter 1

Note: I haven't written anything in a really long time, and this is un-betaed. Have mercy, if you will.

Disclaimer: All songs, names, parts of the game, etc. are not mine at all.

1 – Kids, MGMT

_"My mother died. Recently, in fact."_

Grey Wardens did not cry, so Nicola Cousland made sure she did not.

After supper and a bath in the lake next to camp, the blonde Warden perched herself upon a large rock, with her hair still wet, dripping on her sleeping shift, and her sword and dagger nearby. The water had been warm, yet she had never felt colder, opting to scrub her skin roughly and quickly to get out faster. Her conversation with Morrigan about their mothers left her feeling hollow and melancholic, unable to enjoy the rare pleasure of a bath. But between fleeing her besieged home and discovering she was possibly the last of the Couslands, as well as the Fereldan Wardens, Nicola had had no time to mourn. She had not sulked about as Alistair had (not that she blamed him). She had not cried, had not found any consolation whatsoever, save for the darkspawn blood she shed and in which she reveled. To be honest, she barely had time to think about her loss, and for this, she felt as though she were betraying her family more than Howe ever could.

The simplicity of her words to Morrigan struck her as hard as any blade had in quite some time, prompting her abrupt exit. _My mother died. Recently, in fact. _So, _so_ recently, yet why did it feel like it was years ago? _My mother died. My mother died. _The words repeated themselves in her head as she gazed unblinkingly at the full moon above. And Mother was not the only one. Father, Iona, Oriana and Oren…Possibly everyone at Highever with whom she shared her life. And they did not simply die, she was reminded. They were murdered, killed in cold blood.

Images from that fateful night plagued her as much as the darkspawn nightmares usually did: the arrow sticking out of Iona's chest, her father's blood on her hands, her mother holding Father to her breast as he gasped his dying breaths, and the last look Eleanor gave her, so heartbreakingly full of trust, pride, and love that Nicola almost turned back around to die with them.

She tried thinking of better times, something Nan told her to do after her first pet had died. _Do not focus on the bad things, child, _she had said, showing one of her sporadic and rare kind moments, petting her hair consolingly. _It shan't do you any good._ Green eyes closed as she directed her thoughts towards scenes from her childhood in hope of comfort, trying to curb the stinging tears that threatened to escape.

_ Nan scolding her and her Mabari, Bandit, for stealing sweets from the kitchen before supper and gorging herself on them until she was sick. Nan making her warm tea afterwards, amused and apologetic, although as per usual, hiding it behind a scowl._

_ Sparring with Fergus in the courtyard, sweaty and dirty, looking nothing like the fair lady that her noble blood bespoke. Laughing as she bested him over and over again, at his pout and his distress at finding his baby sister was a better fighter, at the admiring looks from both men and women of the castle._

_ Father taking her out hunting for the first time, much to Mother's quiet displeasure, and his warm hug as she ran into his arms afterwards as a celebration of her first kill. The look of pride in his eyes as they brought the deer back to the castle and had Nan prepare it for supper._

She had led a privileged life, and had a good childhood, one for which she was always grateful. As an easygoing but mischievous child, she had had everyone in the castle wrapped around her little finger. Daddy's little pup also had her fair share of lovers, once she had reached adolescence. She had never been happier than when she was with her family, and was unbelievably lucky to have what she did, Nicola mused. There was absolutely no reason to complain. But the reminder of how beautiful it was in comparison to the horrors she now faced made it hurt even more.

Nicola rubbed furiously at her eyes, breathing in deeply and curling into herself, arms wrapped around her legs. With her face buried in her arms and her focus on nothing else but _not_ crying, she almost wished a Hurlock would ambush her and end it all there. Perhaps then she would find her solace and relief from the pain.

It was in this sorrowful state that Morrigan found her.

Unlike with Alistair, the witch held back the immediate, natural mocking response that came to mind. Morrigan approached the Warden cautiously, yet she intentionally made enough noise so that Nicola would be alert to her presence. She did not want to shame the blonde further, for surely the act of weeping alone was embarrassing enough. Morrigan made sure not to mention this either.

A branch split under the weight of Morrigan's foot, and Nicola abruptly looked up, hand automatically reaching for the hilt of her sword.

"'Tis only I," the mage said calmly. Nicola slowly moved her hand away from her sword, regaining her bearings. "As difficult as it may be to get along with me, hopefully you shall not have to resort to murder."

Despite herself, Nicola's lips quirked in a small smile. "Come to have a bath as well?"

"Are you suggesting that I need one?" Morrigan asked, tilting her head playfully.

"Yes," the Warden deadpanned. Her eyes were red, yet there were no sign of any tears upon her face. So, she had not been crying. Morrigan felt a twinge of approval, but rolled her eyes nonetheless at the retort as she situated herself next to Nicola.

"Although I am sure you would very much like to sit here and watch me bathe, no, 'twas not my intention," said Morrigan, at which Nicola snorted. As unbecoming for a Warden as the gesture was, Morrigan couldn't help but be a little charmed (and aghast that she was). "I came to…to see if you were all right," she added slowly. "I have noticed that people tend to enjoy talking about their _feelings. _'Tis strange, but, alas," she shrugged.

Warmth blossomed in Nicola's heart, as an amused smile came to her lips. She desperately wanted to tease Morrigan for actually _having _feelings, but she knew it wasn't wise. She was secretly pleased that the usually cold woman actually cared, and did not want to discourage her. "I'm fine," she replied. "I was just…just thinking about my mother. My family."

Morrigan nodded her understanding. "Ah. I had assumed as much." She looked thoughtful for a moment, and hesitatingly asked, "I do not suppose you would desire to…discuss it, would you?" At Nicola's small look of surprise, she quickly added, "_Not_ that I am particularly concerned about your despair. 'Tis only that we cannot have our glorious leader in such a sorry state, falling on her sword instead of wielding it against darkspawn."

There was a hint of bitterness to Nicola's laugh as she tugged absently on the wet strands of her hair, a nervous habit Morrigan had noticed during the first days they traveled together. "Of course, Morrigan," she said, obviously placating the mage's desire to save face. She sighed. "I just haven't had much time to think about them. After Howe betrayed us, I was forced to flee my own home with Duncan to become a Grey Warden, instead of seeking the revenge I owe my family. And then, at Ostagar…" she trailed off. "Well. You know."

Morrigan did know, for it was she that tended to the Warden's wounds after Flemeth healed them, and it was she who had watched over the unconscious woman. "'Tis understandable," Morrigan agreed. "You have not had time to yourself. 'Tis difficult to do so when every poor, helpless soul begs you to save them."

"Lest you forget, I am technically saving you and yours," Nicola teased lightly, at which Morrigan glared. "Too many people have died already," she said quietly, sobering instantly. "I have a duty as a Grey Warden to serve others, and I refuse to be selfish."

Morrigan paused. As much as she did not enjoy nor see the point in idle chatter about feelings when actions mattered more, she did find herself oddly caring about the Warden's. Her curiosity also overwhelmed her, for it was interesting to see how people coped with things. The only method of consolation Flemeth ever demonstrated was to trick men into her bed and kill them afterwards. While the thought of the Warden in her bed was not entirely unpleasant for reasons unbeknownst to her (and ones she refused to analyze), she knew that that would not be the most appropriate plan of action at the moment. "What was your family like?" She asked, opting for a change in subject.

Still surprised that Morrigan was even remotely interested, or was at the very least, pretending to be, Nicola paused. After brief contemplation and with a wistful smile, she replied, "My parents were completely and disgustingly in love." A faraway looked reached her eyes. "My mother…Mother was a strong, beautiful woman. Only her competence in battle could rival her looks, my father always said. Or her penchant for scolding me," laughed Nicola. "I was kind of a handful," she admitted, "But Father always just looked the other way."

Holding back any criticism of love, Morrigan asked, "And what of him?"

Nicola looked thoughtful. "Wise. Fair. A good father, and beloved teyrn to his people."

The mage's eyes widened briefly in surprise. "You are of noble blood, then?" Catching herself, she added wryly, "Shocking, considering how you choose to inhale your food rather than chew it."

Laughing, Nicola shrugged. "Being a Cousland has never been that important to me. Titles, labels. Meaningless in the face of reality, especially now. I never wanted servants, and I did not like being treated as if I were made of glass because I was a woman, and a noble one at that. Of course, my situation is nowhere near the realm of Alistair's…but, it did make it easier for me to understand why he kept that a secret. I did not like fancy balls, dresses, or sitting around knitting. I liked talking with the guards, sparring with them, hunting with my brother."

"I suppose that explains your disinterest in the 'Witch of the Wilds' name of which your companions were so fearful and insisted upon calling me," Morrigan mused, thinking of the first time they met. "And also, your rather unladylike affinity for drinking contests with Oghren," she added with disgust.

Nicola chuckled. "Certainly you've gathered that I'm no lady, Morrigan."

There was a lull in the conversation that neither woman found unpleasant nor uncomfortable. Then, "So, you have a brother as well?"

"Yes. Fergus. Thankfully, he was not at Highever when we were attacked, but I honestly do not know where he could be. He was supposed to be out scouting the Wilds, last I heard at Ostagar," said Nicola. She looked away. "I wish I had time to find him, to inform him of Howe's betrayal, to see if he's even alive." The blonde sighed again, tired of all the death and sacrifice she had to go through in the face of the Blight. She was still hesitant to complain to Morrigan, for she was sure to receive nothing but a scathing remark or scolding. But she had not spoken to anyone about this, and it was simply becoming too much to keep to herself.

"I wish I could be selfish, just for a little, and put aside darkspawn for a moment. Do what I want, and not have that be at the expense of others." Shaking herself out of her thoughts, she smiled a sad smile Morrigan knew she saved for dying soldiers or distraught villagers. "Look at me. Acting like a foolish child when I should be acting like the Grey Warden that I am. To be honest, I am surprised you have not shot an arcane bolt my way already! But alas, there is no point in wishing and sulking for things you cannot have," she said, keeping her tone light. Nicola shook her head, and put on a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. Morrigan understood the purpose for wearing the Grey Warden mask, but felt a twinge of _something_ in her chest when Nicola did it to her.

Morrigan rarely felt helpless, but as much as she was loath to admit, when it came to matters of the heart, she was at a loss. She did not know why she found it so…so _displeasing_ when the Warden was upset. Morrigan reasoned that it must be because she hated seeing any weakness, and left it at that. Surely, whatever her purpose for wanting it, there was a way to solve this problem, wasn't there?

Nicola moved to gather her things, when the sound of Morrigan's voice stopped her, her tone thoughtful and interested, like she just discovered a novel idea. She looked somewhat amused and particularly pleased with herself, so Nicola listened warily. It was never good when Morrigan looked like that. "And what is your opinion of things you _can_ have? If you desire them, do you take them?" Morrigan asked.

More than slightly confused at the segue, Nicola responded, "I … I suppose so… Yes. If you desire something and you may have it, take it. But I desire many things that I probably shall not have." Somewhat uncomfortable with the intense, thoughtful look Morrigan's bright eyes cast upon her, and the change in conversation, she shrugged. "Such is life, is it not? Come, it is getting late."

"Like what?"

Nicola chuckled nervously. "So, now it is _you_ who is so full of questions. How very cute." She paused, adding, "And to answer your question…well, just parts of my old life, of course."

"Like what?" Morrigan insisted, and Nicola felt as though she were aiming for something that the Warden could not see, leading her down a strange road with an unknown destination. She did not like being confused, or being badgered, and she felt the tendrils of frustration forming.

"I would think that you, of all people, would discard this thread of conversation as it is pointless and utterly useless," Nicola bristled. She wanted her family back. She wanted to slit Howe's throat herself. She wanted to know if Fergus was even alive. She wanted things to be simple again, to spar all day, drink all night, and find someone to bed until morning. And she wanted Morrigan to go back to doing nothing but sitting there, being pretty, and making rude comments. "Must you probe me so?" She threw the mage's own words back at her as she turned to walk back towards camp. She was stopped when strong, small hands grabbed her shoulders, spun her around, and shoved her roughly against a nearby tree. The wind knocked out of her, she squawked in outrage, "Morrigan, what-"

Suddenly, Nicola felt Morrigan's hand slowly cup her cheek, surprisingly gentle and unsurprisingly seductive. The mage's face neared hers, so that their lips almost brushed together, and Nicola ceased to breathe.

"W-what… you…?" The normally well-spoken woman stuttered, looking every bit like a startled fawn.

"For once, yes. I shall be the one doing the probing," Morrigan murmured. There was a gleam in her eyes as she added, "Do not think that I have not seen the way you look at me, and do not think that I do not know what that look means." Her thumb stroked Nicola's cheek, smirking, as Nicola continued to do her village idiot impression involuntarily, gaping and stuttering.

Perhaps Morrigan did not know matters of the heart, but Morrigan knew _this._ She knew how to seduce, how to make people want and how to satisfy them. And she knew Nicola wanted that from her. And she was tired of talking about everything but not _doing, _feeling helpless and useless_. _For once, her plans did not involve pleasures of the flesh simply for dominance, for her own selfish reasons, or for power. Her desires coincided with Nicola's, of course, but most of all, she wanted to…to care for the other woman. To lessen the pain that this darkness brought and keep her mind off dreadful things, just for a moment. To give Nicola that chance to have one thing she wanted in a world that she was supposed to save, where selfishness had no place. Most of all, to _stop talking _and fix this just so that blasted, strange feeling in her chest would dissipate. Morrigan would do this in the only mutually beneficial and pleasurable way she knew how.

"Come now, Warden," Morrigan said loftily, "Be selfish, just for this moment, hmm?"

"I don't know as to what you're referring," Nicola balked. _Control yourself, keep calm, _the voice in her head insisted as she forced her hands to stay at her side instead of reaching for the other woman's waist. _This is a dirty, nasty trick._

The mage laughed, her eyes roving between the Warden's slightly parted lips and wide, green eyes. "I thought you did not like acting like a child," Morrigan chided playfully as she moved her hips so that they were flush against Nicola's. The blonde's attempt at stifling a groan was unsuccessful. "So stop playing this little game. 'Tis quite simple, really," she continued airily, as her hand drifted to the back of Nicola's neck, fingers stroking the sensitive skin there. "You desire me, do you not?"

Nicola scowled as she tried to stop from trembling. The pressure and weight of Morrigan's body against her was making it difficult to concentrate. She did not like being toyed with, however, and being the prey when she was usually the predator was a jarring thought. The way the mage was looking at her was as though she was a mouse, and Morrigan was a cat, lazily playing with her simply because she could. "You…" Nicola sighed. "Fine. You are a very beautiful woman," she conceded. "I would probably not kick you out of my bedroll, should you happen to slip and fall into it."

Morrigan hmm-ed and chuckled, a little throaty laugh that Nicola found delightfully and deliciously wicked. She did not like being bested at the game of seduction, but Morrigan continued, interrupting her thoughts. "Following your own logic," she said in a low voice, a pleased little smirk still on her face, "You desire me, and it is quite clear that you can have me, no?" Morrigan moved so that her cheek caressed Nicola's as she brushed her lips against a delicate ear.

Frustration and arousal welled up within the blonde. "So?" she challenged, fed up. She was tired of the conflict warring inside her, unable to decide whether she wanted to shove this…this _witch_ away from her or shove her against a tree, and…and Maker, preserve her, was that Morrigan's _tongue_? All thought vanished, however, when the other woman pressed a quick but sensual kiss against her ear, nipping as she pulled away.

"So…" Morrigan purred. "_Take me_."


	2. Chapter 2

Note: Still unbetaed. Bits of constructive criticism/reviews are appreciated. I'd like to know what I'm doing well, if anything, or what I'm doing poorly, as this is an exercise in my latent creativity. And need for attention, apparently. If it's about how lesbigays bother you, however, color me disinterested and eyeing you with pity.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Songs, characters, etc. are not mine, just the plot.

2 – Just A Girl, No Doubt

Morrigan was seething. No. She was positively _fuming_.

Her simmering anger neared its boiling point the closer their party came to camp, and once everyone settled in, the mage did not hesitate to grab Nicola's arm roughly and pull her to the side with nothing more than an uncharacteristic, undignified grunt. Nicola squawked unbecomingly, tripping over her own feet as Morrigan marched her away.

"Oh my," Wynne commented with concerned surprise, watching the usually formidable Warden being manhandled away from camp. Dragged, really.

Alistair whistled. "Somebody's in tro-o-ouble…"

"It looks like it could end up being the good kind," Zevran chimed in, leering from his spot next to the fireside.

"Would you lot sod off?" Oghren barked, angling his head towards the two women, who were a distance away from the campsite now. "I'm trying to listen! Maybe they'll start fighting and scratching and clothes will start being…uh…torn…off…" His eyes glazed over.

"We shouldn't be eavesdropping," Leliana admonished, although her head was suspiciously tilted towards the witch and the Warden as well, a pleased and devious smile playing on her lips.

Finally coming to a stop, Morrigan let go of Nicola's wrist, which was probably bruised. "What in Andraste's knickers has gotten into you?" The blonde griped, rubbing at her wrist. "I happen to like this arm!" Morrigan whipped around with such fury in her eyes that Nicola instinctively took a step back. "Uh," she stuttered. She may have been a fearsome slayer of darkspawn, but sometimes she really felt that if the archdemon angered Morrigan enough, one look from the witch would make it fall over and die without so much as a roar of complaint.

"_What _has gotten into _me?_! I was just about to ask you that very question, _Warden," _Morrigan hissed, spitting the word like it was an insult.

"Calm down," insisted Nicola, holding her hands up in complacency, for fear that a bolt of Winter's Grasp would soon come flying her way. She could only deal with cold, wet armor a few times a day. "What's the matter?"

The way she asked the question so innocently only incensed the witch's rage. "The _matter_ is," she answered frostily, the volume of her voice growing with each word. "You apparently have come under the impression that I am in need of protection. Namely, in the form of always having Oghren, Sten, or that…that dimwitted excuse for a Warden guarding me like asinine watchdogs every time we go into battle!"

Nicola simply stared, as she usually did when she was around Morrigan for a variety of reasons. "But…I…but what's wrong with that?" She asked feebly.

The witch basically flew into Nicola's personal space, their faces a scant distance from each other. "Do I look like I need protection?" roared Morrigan. "Have I become incapable somehow, in the past two weeks, of fighting? Or do you simply like treating me like a fragile little doll all of a sudden?"

"Um." Maker, how could one be so attractive when murderous? Nicola wondered.

"I do not know what has gotten into your silly, fat head," – at this the Warden pouted – "but 'tis frankly, utterly ridiculous and _frustrating_ to be treated as such! I am not some…some helpless little tavern wench that needs the big men or the mighty Warden to protect her," Morrigan raged. "Lest you forget, at any moment, 'tis I who could paralyze, maim, freeze, burn, electr-"

"All right, all right!" Nicola interrupted, paling at the imagery. "I know. I am sorry. I did not mean to give you that impression. Of course you are capable," she attempted to soothe the raging beast that was an incensed woman. "You are one of my best fighters. You know that," she added, as Morrigan seemed to calm down just a little bit. At least enough to stop shrieking, or threatening the potential savior of Ferelden with bodily harm, both of which were good signs.

"Then perhaps you would deign to enlighten me, Warden," Morrigan said, her tone brooking no other option. "Exactly why you would suddenly start thinking that a little girl like me needed to stay behind, protected, while you run off to stab at things? Am I just your healer now? If so, why not just take that platitude-spewing bag of bones over there, instead of relegating me to a safe distance from the big bad darkspawn?"

"I…er…" Nicola shifted her weight on her feet.

"Spit it out!" barked Morrigan. "I will not have this nonsense!"

The blonde huffed, and grumbled, "Fine." She seemed to lose her ire, however, when she spoke her next words. "I just…I was worried about you," she admitted lamely. Before Morrigan could squawk angrily at her again, she held up a hand. "_Not _because you cannot take care of yourself, okay? I promise you that, at least."

"Then why?" the witch asked, tone still sharp but slightly less so than before. She still eyed the Warden carefully.

Nicola sighed. "Because…because sometimes, it's not enough. Sometimes, as much as you hate to admit it, you need my help, and I'm not worried that you're not capable. I'm worried that I'm the one that's not. That I won't be there when you need me. There. Continue your flaying, if you must," she added wearily.

Although the fight evaporated out of her blood and faded away, Morrigan still found remnants of resentment plaguing her. "Even if I were…to concede that I may need your assistance some of the time," she sniffed haughtily, "I have been fine the entire time we have traveled together. I do not understand."

"You weren't fine before," mumbled Nicola, who had found some odd fascination with her boots, if her unwillingness to tear her eyes away from them indicated anything.

A spark of realization hit Morrigan, and she said incredulously, "Surely this is not simply because—"

"Yes!" the Warden burst out. "Of course it is. And it's…it's not simple."

Morrigan still stared in disbelief, huffing. "We fight everyday, Nicola! People get hurt. 'Tis not news to either…or any of us, really. And how hypocritical of you, considering you're the one who comes back to camp nearly everyday with some sort of injury. A papercut here, a wrenched limb there, and oh, my, is that a cracked skull over yonder, I see?" she continued sarcastically.

It was Nicola's turn to be angry. "It is _my _duty as a Grey Warden to have to sacrifice some things. Sometimes, even my life. Not yours. Not any of yours," she said, gesturing back towards their companions at the campsite. "That arrow barely missed your heart, Morrigan. It was lucky that I brought Wynne along that day too. You would not have made it back to camp. You… you wouldn't even wake up. If I had just gotten there faster…"

"You are a bigger fool than I could ever imagine," spat Morrigan, crossing her arms. "Your sacrifices as a Warden are for the good of all of _Ferelden_. To deliberately put yourself in harm's way just to save one person is utterly ridiculous. 'Tis not an exaggeration to say that the world needs you."

"But I need _you,_" insisted Nicola, before she could even process what she was saying. Once she realized, however, she immediately backtracked, "…guys. I need you guys. S-so…I would do that for any one of you. Yes. That's it. Um…?" She could feel herself burning with embarrassment inside her heavy armor. It felt like an oven, one that she wished she could crawl further into and just die.

Thankfully, and for some reason, Morrigan simply tilted her head and squinted at her, scrutinizing and opting not to say anything about her…phrasing. "Ye-es…" she said slowly. All of her ire gone away now that she had screamed it all out and gotten her point across. Morrigan had nothing further about which to argue. She sighed, conceding, "I cannot say that I … entirely understand. But, I do see somewhat where you are coming from."

"Um, yes," Nicola added hastily, desperately trying to end this conversation there. "So, that's that, then? I apologized, you accepted. Good? All right. Perfect." She cleared her throat.

Morrigan turned back towards camp, where everyone seemed far too "innocently" occupied with the fire, a variety of expressions on their faces. Zevran grinned as if he were trying to hold back a laugh, Alistair looked as though he had swallowed a small toad, and Leliana scowled as if Bandit had chewed on one of her boots again. Sten looked completely disinterested, as per usual, and Oghren seemed to have left for his tent. Looking over her shoulder at the fumbling blonde, she stated, "Just do not let it happen again, Warden, hmm?" Nicola nodded vigorously.

"Hey!" Zevran shouted gleefully at the approaching women, at which Morrigan scowled, and Nicola froze. Zevran's wicked and pleased look meant nothing good.

"What?" asked Morrigan irritably.

"I need you…" he said seriously to the witch, looking deeply into her eyes. Behind Morrigan, Nicola looked positively horrified. "…Guys. I need you guys to help prepare supper, of course," he finished, his evil cackle rivaling that of a darkspawn emissary's.

Morrigan chuckled a little to herself as Leliana's scowl deepened, and she heard Nicola gracefully stumble and trip over a rock.


	3. Chapter 3

Note: It seems that my writing will go forever unbetaed and my skills always questionable. I'm not too sure how I feel about this chapter in comparison to the others, but it's been sitting on my hard drive and I thought to put it up. Tad melancholic, but this song always puts me in a mood.

I want to thank everyone who reviewed or added me to their favorite stories. It really means a lot to me, considering I literally haven't written in years, and was almost too shy to post this. You guys are awesome, and I love hearing your feedback. Totally keeps me going. Thanks.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything (the game, music used, characters, etc.) except the plot and what I've written.

3 – I Want You, Elvis Costello

Nicola woke up.

This was surprising, considering she was the one to strike the final blow against the archdemon. She was not supposed to wake up. The archdemon's death should have meant hers as well.

Everything hurt. This, in contrast, was unsurprising, considering exactly how long that grueling battle lasted, how Leliana, Alistair, and Morrigan had all fallen long before she had, how badly her body ached before she even met the archdemon. She could scarcely open her eyes, barely take a breath without searing pain nearly blinding her. It was only when she heard stirring from across the room that she realized she was not alone.

"Maker's breath," Alistair said, crossing the room in less than three hurried steps to be by her bedside. "You're awake. You're alive," he whispered, looking at her in so much awe, it was as though he was looking at Andraste herself. Nicola felt much like she was in Flemeth's hut all over again, waking up when she did not expect to. It was quite disconcerting to keep dying and waking up all over again, especially after the mental and emotional preparation involved before actually choosing to die this time.

Nicola smiled weakly. "Barely."

Leliana refused to hold herself back as Alistair had, rushing towards the bed with tears freely falling from her face as she reached for Nicola's hand, clutching it gently in hers. "Thank the Maker," she said softly, smiling. "We were so worried about you. You would not wake up. We thought…" She shook her head, refusing to continue.

"I was not expecting to, to be honest," Nicola stated. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Leliana asked softly, handing Nicola a much needed glass of water.

She gulped it down, trying to relieve the parched feeling in her dry throat. "Last I remember…I was killing the archdemon. A bright light…and heat. Lots of it. An explosion, I think? Then…nothing." Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Shouldn't I be dead? Did I not kill the archdemon?" she asked, sitting up too quickly and falling back with a groan as Leliana fussed over her.

Alistair noticeably pulled back, clearing his throat. "No, no, you did. Don't worry. Ferelden and the rest of the world is safe, thanks to you," he smiled gently. There was something to his smile that Nicola could not place, however. Something that did not let the smile reach his usually bright eyes.

"I don't understand," her raspy unused voice protested.

Leliana and Alistair shared a look that Nicola could not interpret. Everything was so unclear, so fuzzy, and her head felt as though it were filled with cotton. Even the sound of their voices seemed muted, and pressure pushed against the back of her eyes, threatening to pop them out of her skull. Leliana pressed a friendly, warm kiss to her forehead, brushing blonde strands out of the Warden's eyes. "I shall go tell the others that you've awakened," she said, pulling away slowly. "They will be as overjoyed as we are." With that, and one more look at Alistair, she walked out of the room.

"Something is going on," noted Nicola grimly. "Something that no one is willing to tell me."

Alistair had the decency to look hesitant and ashamed. "I know about Morrigan's ritual," the Warden admitted. At the blonde's confused tilt of her head, he continued, "She told me. She told me what it would do, and how to do it. That you refused."

Memories from the night before the final battle came easily to Nicola, as did the squeezing of her heart.

_Morrigan_.

_Slowly and absently, she seemed to drift back to her room in shock. She felt betrayed that the Grey Wardens neglected to tell their recruits that they must die in order to kill the archdemon, and that there was no other way. And that it would have to be her or Alistair, if Riordan failed. Nicola had volunteered immediately to deliver the final blow, should the senior Warden fall, but that had come naturally to her. To fulfill her obligation as a Grey Warden. While Alistair had abdicated the throne for Queen Anora, and therefore was not going to be king, something about letting someone else make that ultimate sacrifice while she potentially could seemed unacceptable to her._

_Nicola faced the fact that she was going to die soon everyday. Yet she had trounced every foe, every darkspawn that had crossed her path up until now, and the reassurance that she was an excellent fighter, bested by none, had not been challenged for quite some time. But perhaps this was her comeuppance for her false sense of security. Nightmares of the darkspawn plagued her every night, but now they all seemed to focus around the final battle. For some reason, she simply knew that Riordan would die. And that she would have to be the one._

_ It was a little selfish not to want to die. Not only for self-preservation's sake, but because of Morrigan._

_ Morrigan. She could barely breathe. Nicola had foolishly and carelessly fallen in love with the sullen witch, and while the other woman never said it, the blonde knew that she returned the sentiments. It had been a tricky path, getting to where they had. With almost everyone's disapproval, especially that of Leliana, Wynne, and Alistair, Nicola was in a constant battle to justify her relationship with Morrigan. Even Morrigan herself sometimes seemed intent on sabotaging…whatever they had together, but Nicola always attributed it to the witch being unaccustomed to such things._

_The Warden twisted Morrigan's ring on her finger anxiously as she continued her journey back to her room. The weight in her chest seemed heavier still, now that she could not get the mage's beautiful, bright eyes out of her head. She could deal with dying, letting go of her life for the sake of others. But she was not sure she could deal with letting go of Morrigan._

_Nicola was surprised to see the object of her thoughts in her room, gazing into the fire with her back to the door._

"_Do not be alarmed," the mage said without looking back, "'Tis only I."_

"_Is everything all right?" Nicola stepped forward, worried._

"_I am well. 'Tis you who are in danger." Morrigan's tone was casual. Almost too casual. She always did this when she had something to say that Nicola would dislike._

_And dislike, Nicola did._

"_No," she said firmly, crossing her arms._

"_No?" Morrigan asked incredulously. "Surely you must be joking," she said._

"_I am serious," said Nicola resolutely. "Deathly so, I'm afraid." Her smile was bitter. _

"_This is to save your life!" Morrigan hissed. "Do not be so foolish. Do you not trust me after this? Thinking I am still here to betray you, are you not?"_

"_Isn't that what you did?" the Warden shot back furiously. She felt tears of rage stinging the back of her eyes, but she whirled around, refusing to show the mage any signs of weakness. "You knew this all along. You said it yourself. This was the plan," Nicola's voice was filled with the burn of betrayal. "Ingratiate yourself. Help me just so you could get this… this Old God's soul. Everything…was part of the plan, wasn't it?" she whispered, clenching her fist and digging her nails into her palm._

_Everything. The beautiful, vulnerable look in Morrigan's eyes as she told her she would always cherish her friendship, even if she did not deserve it. The shy yet haughty way the witch shoved her ring at the Warden as a gift. The concern in her voice every time the Warden was injured. The way Morrigan clutched Nicola to her every time they made love, as if she couldn't, or wouldn't, let go._

"_Not everything," said Morrigan, perched on the edge of Nicola's bed, looking at her hands. She had the decency to look somewhat remorseful, Nicola scornfully thought. "Coming to…care the way I did for you was not part of the plan."_

_She still couldn't even say the word "love," Nicola thought bitterly. "I don't know what to believe anymore," said the Warden hoarsely, turning to face Morrigan. _

_The witch grabbed her hand, the blonde's flinch not going unnoticed. Stung, yet unwilling to be deterred, Morrigan entwined their fingers. "Believe me when I say that this will work, and this will save your life. My feelings for you are all the more reason for me to complete the ritual."_

"_At what cost?" she spat in reply. "You expect me to trust you with something of this magnitude when you've just admitted that all of this was a plan! And you do not even have the decency to tell me why you must leave, why you must raise this child alone. What does it mean to have a child with the soul of an Old God? To never see me again even if you save my life? To whore yourself out to Alistair?"_

_The slap was not unexpected, but it still burned hotly against her cheek. Morrigan did not look apologetic, but rather, furious. "Do not ever speak to me in that way."_

_Nicola laughed, bitter and hollow. She grabbed Morrigan, pressing one last kiss against her mouth while she could, tangling her fingers in dark hair and tasting what she never would again. When she pulled away, Morrigan remained dazed momentarily, before the Warden spoke. "Don't worry, my love," she whispered, holding the witch's beautiful face between her hands, thumb stroking her cheek. "It seems that no matter what, I won't ever have the chance."_

_When she walked out of her room, it took everything in her not to look back. Goodbye, darling…And don't look back, Eleanor had told her, as she fled with Duncan out of Castle Cousland. Fleeing at the most important moments of her life seemed to be her specialty._

_Don't look back. Don't ever look back._

"What are you saying?" asked Nicola shakily, although the growing feeling in the pit of her stomach indicated she already knew the answer. She was more terrified than she had ever felt before in her life, more than when she awoke hearing men yelling in her castle, more than when she fought her first darkspawn, more than when she plunged her sword into the archdemon for the last time, facing her death.

Alistair did not respond at first. He lowered his eyes to the ground, clenching his fist, before looking straight into disbelieving green eyes. "I…we did it for you," he whispered, this time letting his tears fall freely. At her unblinking, empty stare, he begged, "Please, Nicola, there was a way to save you…we couldn't just let you die. Not when we could do something about it."

She could see images in her head, all too clear. Morrigan undressing, Alistair's eyes feasting upon her naked body. Alistair grunting above her. Morrigan's face contorted in pleasure. His hands, his too-big hands holding her down as they both drove towards release…surely, surely _just_ to save her. Of course. What was for her eyes, her hands, her heart only was now Alistair's, even just for one night. Did Morrigan make the same sounds, say the same things to Alistair that she did for Nicola? White heat nearly blinded her again, this time not because of pain, but because of the rage dwelling inside of her. The physical betrayal only added to the fact that they had distinctly gone against her explicit wishes, gone behind her back. They had stolen the most important decision about her own life from her, and expected her to simply accept it. So they had wanted her to live, but at what cost? It seemed that everyone got what they wanted it from this, Nicola thought bitterly, except for her. She hated the thought, but she felt just as betrayed as her family did when Howe besieged the castle. Perhaps even more. She had been ready to die, having accepted her death with as much honor as she could. Yet that had all been ripped away from her because her so-called friends were so damned selfish.

"You… you couldn't _let_ me die?" She rasped harshly. "That wasn't your decision to make. It was mine…and you stole it from me," Nicola accused. She clenched her jaw, nostrils flaring as she tried to reign in her growing temper. Between gritted teeth, she growled, "I have given all I could…everything…for the sake of Ferelden itself. And you could not let me have this one thing. My one desire to die honorably." She heard Alistair step forward carefully, trying to calm her. "Get out," she whispered, her fists clutching and pulling at her bed sheets. She felt the beginning of a berserker rage forming, the heat inside of her building, the muscles, despite their stiffness and pain, tensing and straining. She could not breathe.

"Nicola, _please—"_

"_GET OUT!" _She screamed. He fled without ever looking back, Nicola would have noticed, had she not been hyperventilating, trying to control her rage. She felt as though she could not breathe, the fury consuming her, and her mind swam. Her body could not take the demands of the past weeks or the physical toll that her anger was inflicting upon her now, and a wave of dizziness overwhelmed her. She felt like she was dying all over again, and she was tired, oh so very tired of it all…everyone just took and took from her and now there really wasn't anything left…

Gasping for breath and trying not to have her heart beat out of her chest, Nicola thankfully felt the edges of her vision start to blur and fade. The last thing she remembered was bright red hair, and the concerned shouts of the Orlesian bard as she ran into the room…

Despite refusing to eat or sleep, or to have anyone with her besides Bandit, Nicola eventually recovered. She rarely left her room, however, and when she did, it was to leave the castle with the Mabari and not return for hours. No one knew where she went, nor did they dare ask.

Alistair was thoroughly miserable, but Nicola made sure never to interact with him. So, they wanted to save her life? They succeeded. It was her choice now to make sure he was not a part of it anymore, at least for the time being. She barely acknowledged his existence, even as she was honored by Queen Anora in front of everyone as the hero of Ferelden. The shining adoration from the public did nothing to soothe the pain in her heart, however. Her family was still dead. Her lover and best friend had betrayed her. She was entirely and utterly alone. What did it mean to save her homeland when it was no longer a place in which she could live?

Wynne and Leliana would not stop fussing over her when they could, but nothing seemed to heal the heartbreak their beloved Warden and companion suffered. They could only watch as she seemed to waste away into a shell of her former self, filled with anger, hatred, and sorrow. This was not the Warden they all knew and had grown to love, but they did not know where that Nicola had gone. Maybe the ritual had failed in some way, because in any case, the old Nicola was dead.

It was late on a warm, beautiful night when Nicola finished packing her things and strapped her two swords to her armor-clad back. Bandit whined as they crept down the palace hallway, but she shushed him with a stern look and a finger pressed to her lips. Passing a guard who opened his mouth to greet her in surprise, she shook her head vigorously. "You have seen nothing," she warned. The look in her eyes brooked no other choice than his silence. He nodded and let her pass.

She slipped easily out of the front door, Bandit on her heels and her mind completely at a loss as to where she would go. But go, she would. Perhaps it would do her some good to be alone, away from Alistair's hurt puppydog look, Wynne and Leliana's concern, Zevran and Oghren's lame attempts at cheering her up. Nicola had not had the chance to be alone in so long, immediately being recruited and building up her ragtag team of soldiers everyday, uniting Ferelden and fighting the Blight. A hero was no longer needed, and for once, Nicola was allowed to just be herself. Not a Grey Warden, not a savior of her lands, not a hero on whom everyone relied. Nicola could just be Nicola.

The problem was, she did not know who Nicola Cousland was anymore. But she intended to find out.

And so she left. As her footsteps led her away from the palace and towards the unknown (Morrigan? Highever? Out of Ferelden, even?), the smell of the open road welcomed her once more, the castle disappearing behind her. It was this feeling of freedom that provided her the first small feeling of comfort that she had had since before the final battle, and she could feel tears welling in her eyes borne of what was to come and what was lost.

She didn't look back. She didn't ever look back.

But if she had, she would have seen the shape of a dog with bright familiar yellow eyes, sadly watching her from a distance until it could no longer see her. Then it, too, fled, but in the opposite direction, until its figure was swallowed up by the darkness as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Note: Double post today, because the previous one was too depressing. Just a short light-hearted one to balance it out. Again, comments/reviews totally welcome and appreciated. I aim to please. I also have a playlist compiled and want to write a one-shot for each, but if you guys have any songs that you think of, I'd love to hear them.

Disclaimer: Characters, music, etc. are not mine, only the plot and what I've written.

4 – Do You Believe in Magic, The Monkees

As soon as Flemeth taught her how to shapeshift and control her animal form, Morrigan fell in love with spending her time in the Wilds as something other than human. For hours, she would prowl as a wolf, or fly with the birds until dark. Sometimes she would shapeshift into a cat, and roam the darkness until Mother called her home for supper.

One day when she was feeling particularly brave and adventurous, she trekked to the far edge of the Wilds, farther than she had ever gone before. Surely if Mother knew, she would get a proper slap across the face, as per usual, but the risks involved only incensed Morrigan's desire to explore.

She was in the form of a raven, edging closer to the ends of the Wilds when her hearing picked up on the sound of voices. The fear of the unknown entangled itself with the tendrils of excitement blossoming within her, and she carefully headed forward to observe the townspeople that were apparently and foolishly traveling so near the Korcari Wilds.

It seemed to be a caravan, she noticed as she landed on a nearby tree branch. She had never seen so many people at the same time before, even though there were probably only about three or four carriages and wagons there. They chatted animatedly, apparently taking a break from the rigors of travel, and Morrigan crept ever closer, thoroughly intrigued and amazed. Hopping from branch to branch, she observed her subjects with caution and interest. Most of the clothing many of the travelers wore was made of worn, simple cloth, but upon closer look, not all of them were the same. An elegant noblewoman captured Morrigan's eye as she was the best dressed out of all of them. The little mage was enthralled.

The woman was dressed beautifully, and the air around her seemed to project her regal persona. She was as beautiful as the clothes she wore, with her fashionable yet sensible hairstyle and sharp green eyes. Her gown was impractical for travel, Morrigan noted, but she did not seem to care, and Morrigan could not either. The beauty of the dress entranced her: it was a deep, royal crimson gown paired with shining gold earrings to match the golden trim. The woman's boots must have been of the only the finest leather in Ferelden.

It was then that Morrigan made her decision to flit closer towards the carriage and see what was inside. The noblewoman's back was towards her, and it did not matter, considering a curious little bird was nothing suspicious. The woman spoke, but Morrigan did not hear to whom or what was said, concentrating only on finding the closest branch to the wagon so she could peer inside. It was pure luck that the noblewoman left the carriage, off to the other end of the caravan to speak to the other people, and Morrigan chirped with delight, flying into the supposedly empty carriage.

Everything in there was so beautiful and shiny and perfect…surely this was the epitome of wealth and beauty, Morrigan mused in awe. In particular, a small golden mirror lay inside, encrusted with the most fanciful jewels the little mage had ever seen. Fascinated, she hopped closer towards it, intent on snatching it between her talons and flying off back to the hut. It was when the handle was in her clutches that she realized with fear that she was not alone.

A small, fair-haired girl of her age stirred from the blankets and cushions on the floor of the carriage, blinking sleepily at the intruder. Morrigan froze in shock, not having noticed the other girl in the carriage at all. Making eye contact with someone other than Flemeth for the first time in ages and being caught in her tracks struck the fear of death itself in Morrigan's heart. She moved to fly off immediately without her treasure, already feeling devastated. She had been so close. She could feel the handle of the small mirror between her claws…

"Hello, bird," the blonde girl said drowsily with a smile. She looked flushed with fever, her hair mussed with sleep. The girl did not reach out towards the raven, afraid to disturb it for fear it really would fly off. Morrigan could not move for a moment, frozen in fear. "It _is_ a pretty, shiny mirror, isn't it?" she asked, noting the bird's apparent fascination with it. She sniffled and coughed.

What a strange girl, Morrigan thought, talking to birds like this, but she was distracted at how similar her bright green eyes were to the noblewoman's. She could simply fly away, as the girl would view it as the flightiness of birds, but she sulked momentarily at the thought of losing her beautiful treasure. She pecked at it gently, the only way she could touch it in this form. How badly Morrigan wished she could be in human form, holding it to her chest and caressing the beauty of the golden mirror.

"You really like it, don't you?" the girl said, watching the bird, and of course, not expecting an answer. She whispered conspiratorially, "Mother never cared for that mirror. Wouldn't miss a thing. Go on then." She yawned, the achiness in her head making everything blurry and dream-like.

Morrigan could hardly believe her luck, until she heard footsteps approach the carriage. Now would be her moment to fly away with her prize, she thought, before making her exit. The girl watched the raven fly off, the small mirror as its tiny burden.

"Nicola, my darling, what are you doing up? You should be resting. You still seem to have a fever."

Her mother pressed a cool hand to her forehead as she settled back into her cushions and pillows her common cold making her mind fuzzy. "I'm sorry, Mother…I think…I thought I saw a bird in here," she mumbled sleepily, finding comfort in her mother's hand stroking her hair.

"Hush now, child," Eleanor soothed. "You were probably just having a dream."

Nicola nodded drowsily. "Yes…A dream…" she murmured, already falling back asleep.

Hours later, when Morrigan showed the golden mirror to Flemeth proudly, her mother responded by smashing it to the ground to "teach her a lesson." Morrigan had never felt such heartbreak before; it felt as though her heart was shattered along with her beautiful, golden mirror. She never wanted to feel that again, and so she vowed she would not ever let herself.

Years later, however, when there was something oddly familiar that Morrigan could not place about the fair-haired, smiling Warden presenting her with a golden mirror, she would simply attribute the strange feelings and inability to get green eyes out of her thoughts to Alistair's awful, probably toxic soup he made for dinner.


	5. Chapter 5

5 - Wake Up, Arcade Fire

AN: Unbetaed again. Real life (and Red Dead Redemption) got in the way so my writing had stalled. I'm not really satisfied with this installment but hoped that finishing this one up would awaken my muse. Let me know what you guys think.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.

There were two ways that Flemeth passed on her knowledge to Morrigan, and both were equally as efficient; Morrigan was a quick study, and Flemeth, a very good, effective teacher.

The first method of teaching was direct. Flemeth would specifically and explicitly explain her rules of thumb. It was this type that usually accompanied a scolding or a slap across the face, and for that reason, Morrigan hated it. _Don't venture too far into the Wilds, _Flemeth would warn. _Don't let anyone see you, much less follow you back home. Don't do this, don't do that. _A lecture about respect and listening, and some corporeal punishment would the results of Morrigan's disobedience.

The most memorable portrayal of this was when Morrigan had disobeyed and foolishly showed Mother her treasure: a beautiful golden mirror she had stolen from a noblewoman. Flemeth was enraged, and Morrigan was sure she would never forget the sound of the shattering mirror, the sting of a slap on her face, or the burn of unshed tears behind her eyes. _Don't cry over spilt milk_, Flemeth would reiterate. _Baubles and beauty have no meaning. Only survival. Only power. You'd do well to remember that,_ she said after forcing Morrigan to pick up the sharp, broken pieces of the mirror, and banishing her to her room without supper.

The second method was subtler. It was never verbalized, never portrayed with a grand gesture like the smashing of a mirror, but had just as much an impact as the first. This knowledge Flemeth passed on to Morrigan using example, indirectly but just as intentionally. Simply watching her mother taught Morrigan just as much as punishing her when she disobeyed.

When Flemeth would trick men into her bed only to kill them afterwards, Morrigan learned that sex wasn't for love. It was for pleasure or for power. Never for love, because love had no meaning.

When Flemeth would use Morrigan to con templars or foolish adventurers, Morrigan learned that man was simple, and man would do anything in the face of desire, or a pretty (supposed) damsel in distress.

When Flemeth slaughtered whomever crossed her path simply because she could, Morrigan learned that only the fittest man or beast deserved to live. Whatever was not strong enough to survive had no place in the world.

When Flemeth would always choose action over feelings or thoughts, Morrigan learned that there was no point in dwelling over the past, or dreaming what the future could be. What existed was what was real and what mattered. Fantasy and wishful thinking was insignificant.

The most important lesson, however, was the fact that nothing was ever free. Morrigan learned this when Flemeth would never bring her presents for no reason, never gave her anything without Morrigan doing something for it. Everything Morrigan received was earned. Kindness and altruism were pointless. Everything had a price, and everyone would always want something in return. Her own mother used her to her own ends, proving further that altruism was nothing but a farce.

It was Nicola's blatant contradiction and disregard of this final, most important lesson that left Morrigan floundering in confusion when the Warden sheepishly and hesitantly approached the mage's tent with something hidden behind her back.

"I've got something for you," she said, shifting her weight on her feet. It was then that she revealed her prize, gently cradling it in her hands.

"You…you found Flemeth's true grimoire," Morrigan breathed, gently gathering the large tome in her hands in awe. "To be honest, I dared not hope you would even remember," she whispered, running her right hand over the tome's worn edges. "Does this mean…?"

Nicola nodded. "Yes. Flemeth is dead." She scratched a healing burn on her arm absently. The battle had been anything but easy, but it would not do to mention it. "For now at least," she smiled wryly.

The other woman's lips quirked in a rare smile until she truly took note of the Warden's physical condition. Her armor had clearly gone through some wear and tear, and several burns littered the parts of the Warden's body that were exposed. Sporadic discoloration suggested healing bruises, and there was a significant gash on Nicola's back in the shape of three claw marks. "'Twas a difficult fight, wasn't it," she said, not expecting a reply from the far too modest Warden. At Nicola's shrug and easy smile, Morrigan felt something strange in the pit of her stomach that she deliberately ignored. "I…you have my thanks," Morrigan continued quietly. "Truly. I am…unsure as to what to say."

The blonde flushed a little, scuffing her boot on the ground. She cleared her throat and replied, "It was nothing. Just put it to good use, hmm? I would hate to have nearly lost an eyebrow for something you may not even read." Nicola delighted in the small laugh Morrigan gave, and awkwardly motioned to leave. "I'm…ah, going to have Wynne see if she can do anything further about these," she said, gesturing to the burns and bruises on her arms. As she started to leave, Morrigan's call stopped her.

"Wait," said the mage. At Nicola's inquisitive look, Morrigan asked hesitatingly, "Surely… you must want something in return?"

Blonde eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "It's a present, Morrigan."

It was Morrigan's turn to be confused. "You say that as if I've received a gift that didn't come with a price before," she muttered.

Cocking her head, Nicola replied, "Then those weren't proper gifts." Approaching the mage, she carefully put her hand on her shoulder, knowing that Morrigan hated to be touched but needing the contact anyway. She and Morrigan had gotten closer, more so than any of their traveling companions thought was wise. They'd become really good friends, so much so that Nicola constantly had to remind herself not to look for, or want more. Adept as she was at hiding her feelings towards Morrigan, she could not hide her inherent desire to please the ones she cared about, even if Morrigan never would feel the same. "I did it because you asked me to. To help you," she said simply.

"Why?" Morrigan asked, utterly lost by this conversation and the feel of Nicola's hand on her shoulder. "Not that I am…ungrateful, of course."

"Because we are…friends," Nicola said with one of her disarming smiles. How the fiercest fighter she had ever seen and the fearsome slayer of darkspawn could have such a charming, easy smile sometimes truly left Morrigan befuddled, and this was one of those times. "Friends help friends without any desire for something in return." Her expression sobered. "I know that you find it difficult to have friends…maybe even be friends with me…but I hope that you'll keep trying." She paused awkwardly, uncharacteristically looking unsure of herself. "We _are_ friends, right?"

"Y-yes," replied Morrigan, once she realized that the question was more than rhetorical, and when she realized that she actually meant what she said.

The warmth of Nicola's hand left her shoulder after a quick pat, and the Warden awkwardly disengaged herself from the intimate gesture. "I should go," she said, smiling. Morrigan could only nod absently as the Warden walked off to the party campfire.

"Friends," Morrigan mumbled distractedly to herself, tasting the word on her tongue. She discovered that she liked it, although she desperately and deliberately ignored the still-present, still-strange fluttering in her stomach that always accompanied Nicola's presence. Poking at her campsite's fire absently with a stick, Morrigan tried to disregard the ephemeral feeling and irrational thought that perhaps 'friends' was not adequate or appropriate enough to describe the alarming, disconcerting flutter in her abdomen.

It would not do her well to indulge in her fanciful thoughts, she reminded herself, almost hearing Flemeth's voice nagging her in her head. She looked in slight awe again at the grimoire, as the echoes of Flemeth's scolding tone faded, and soon drowned out in the face of Nicola's laughter across the camp at something Alistair had said.

As Morrigan found herself oddly distracted by Nicola's broad smile and easy laughter, she felt the twinge of doubt in her mother's life lessons, and thought absently that maybe Flemeth was not the greatest teacher after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Note: Not sure if I like this one. Dealing with school (namely, how to pay for it) has been breaking my ass for the past couple of days, so my efforts to write have been lackluster, to say the least. I'm not sure exactly how long I want this piece to be either. Let me know what you think.

Disclaimer: None of it is mine except most of the plot.

I've Seen Better Days, Santeria

As the fate of Ferelden bore down on Nicola Cousland's shoulders daily, it was no surprise that it was difficult for the blonde Warden to find what she could reasonably and believably call, "a good day."

Today was decidedly _not_ a good day, Nicola thought, as she slowly sat up, clutching her throbbing head. One would assume that it had been, considering she was practically strolling out of the castle with the rescued Queen Anora after finally getting her revenge on Rendon Howe. But, one would have quickly retracted that assumption after encountering a bloodthirsty band of guards and the formidable lapdog, Ser Cauthrien, as Nicola unfortunately had.

The blonde groaned, as it seemed parts of her she was not even aware of ached, and she foggily tried to regain her bearings. Nicola looked around, trying to gather some sort of information as to where she was. In all honesty, she was surprised she even woke up, but she immediately cast the morbid thought aside in lieu of examining her environment. Her surroundings, it appeared, were that of a dank, dark dungeon that smelled of blood, fear, and sweat. She cringed, but pushed herself to her feet nonetheless.

Nicola shivered upon discovery that she was clad only in her undergarments, her only other form of cover being a litany of bruises and cuts. Nevertheless, she painfully limped towards the other end of the cell to investigate the sole door there. She knocked on the large metal frame when a defeated voice interrupted her examination.

"Not going to get anywhere," the voice said. "Door's solid iron. Only the guard's got the key." The Warden turned to see a fellow prisoner curiously watching her from his own cell. His appearance was just as haggard and bruised as hers, and he clutched at the cell bars, presumably for support. Upon coming face to face with her, his eyes widened as far as they could, considering both of them were considerably swollen and bruised. "You look like you've seen better days, friend," he commented. "What'd you do to get in here?"

Nicola let out a bitter snort. "I killed Rendon Howe," she said simply.

The man laughed, "And that's a crime?"

Her lips quirking in a small smile, Nicola shrugged. "So," she said, "Only the guard has the key. Where is he?"

Her fellow inmate raised a doubtful eyebrow, smirking. "You're not planning on escaping, are you? It's impossible! Fort Drakon is the most heavily guarded place in all of Denerim."

Sighing, Nicola silently agreed with the man. She hated to capitulate so easily, but trying to escape, especially in her condition, would probably be a suicide mission at best. She'd been "lucky" enough to avoid the torture chamber just yet, but if this is what the guards would do to her without the torture rack, she wouldn't stand a chance if caught. Her mind worked furiously for alternatives, praying that Loghain's stupidity would not result in the death of all Ferelden.

Surely _someone_ would come for her, now that she was quite obviously captured, she reasoned. But Nicola visibly paled when a thought came to her mind, unbidden. What if the others were captured as well? What became of them? Were they beaten, as she was, or…she faltered. Images of Leliana and Alistair, bruised and bleeding, flashed in Nicola's mind. She felt her stomach churn, however, when an image of a certain dark-haired mage formed, body painted black and blue and red. _Morrigan._

The Warden shook her head, holding her head up high under the pretense of confidence she hoped she could instill in herself. "I'm…I'm sure someone will come for me," she said shakily. She prayed to a Maker she barely believed in that it would be Morrigan, not to put the mage in further danger if she weren't already, but to reassure Nicola in the flesh that she was still alive.

Although she was certain he did not mean it maliciously, the prisoner's bark of disbelieving laughter only added salt to her wounds. "Just one person? Really? I'd like to see that."

Nicola set her jaw resolutely, scowling. "Well, I'm sure that…that someone else willl come too," she added, the other most important woman in her life coming to mind. She could already hear Leliana telling her a story to take her mind off the aching pain that wracked her body. She hoped she was as brave and confident as she sounded.

Still skeptical, he shrugged, but raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Whatever you say," he said, turning back to a corner in his own cell.

The Warden sighed, sitting down on the damp stone floor and wrapping her arms around her bruised and cold legs.

_No_, she thought with a frown. _Definitely not a good day at all._

The hours passed, and Nicola felt herself going stir crazy. The mold growing in the dungeon felt like it started growing on her as well, considering how long she'd been sitting there.

"Still waiting for your friends?" The prisoner snickered.

The blonde turned to scowl at him, having had enough. She growled, standing up quickly and cracking her knuckles. "Just…just do as I say, and we might have a blasted chance, will you?"

"Quick! I think…I think something's wrong with her," said the prisoner, calling to the jailor. "She might be sick."

"Oh, what is it?" The guard asked irritably, bursting through Nicola's cell door, only to find the Warden prone on the floor, clutching at her stomach and groaning.

As soon as he leaned over to inspect her, however, she lashed out with her foot, catching him on his chin and knocking him backwards. Nicola pounced, landing blow after blow upon his face, hoping to end it quickly so that his shouts would not alert the other guards. With a groaning gurgle, he blissfully passed out, and Nicola gingerly removed herself from his body after searching his pockets.

There it was - she felt it. The small metal key felt like gold in her hands.

"What was it you said?" The Warden asked her fellow prisoner turned cohort, holding the key up triumphantly and dusting herself off. "Something about escape being impossible?"

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as she hurried to open her cell. As she ran to open his, shouts from the hallway and the sounds of swords clashing alerted her to more trouble. "Hurry," she said urgently, throwing the door to his cell open. "They're coming."

"I'm forever in your debt, friend," he said, "Maker watch over you." He turned and ran down a hallway, disappearing into the darkness.

That taken care of, Nicola moved to find her armor and weapons. Trying to escape without either would be really impossible. She was snatching a mace off the unconscious guard just in case, until the sound of hurried footsteps caused her to look over her shoulder in alarm.

And subsequently, to burst out laughing.

"You're all right," she said, with relief, laughter still in her voice. In between chuckles, she added, "And…dressed to kill, I see."

Chuckling and rolling her eyes, Leliana, clad in her old Chantry robes, hugged Nicola before regarding her seriously. "Thank the Maker you're alive," she said, studying Nicola's features. She frowned, adding, "We need to hurry, however. There are guards everywhere, and we are quite clearly outnumbered."

Nodding, the blonde stood with the aid of the bard before addressing the one she was most excited to see, who was shoving Nicola's weapons and armor at her before she could get a word in edgewise. "You're looking well, too, _Sister_," Nicola laughed, dragging her eyes up and down Morrigan's body, wrapped sacrilegiously in the distinct robes of the Chantry.

"Yes, yes, 'tis good to see you managed to scrape by, Warden," Morrigan said snippily. The brief, soft look in her eyes as Nicola gingerly shrugged on her armor gave her away however, and Nicola smiled. The deliberate brush of Morrigan's thumb over the back of Nicola's hand as she passed over the armor did not go unnoticed as well, and caused the Warden to desire her escape even more, looking forward to greeting Morrigan more…properly…later.

"Let's go," Nicola said in a tone that was all Grey Warden, and with a glint in her eye that was purely wicked.

"Novel, brilliant, and wonderful idea," Morrigan said sarcastically, shifting uncomfortably in her outfit. "'Tis difficult to move in this fabric cage, and I am most impatient to get out of it and light it on fire," she groused.

As Leliana laughed and headed down the hallway ahead of the pair to scout the area, Nicola twirled her dagger in her hand loftily, reveling in the feel of it in her hand. "I would not be so quick to ruin that," she said, eyeing the tight fit of the Chantry robes on Morrigan's body once more. To be honest, she was just as impatient to get the mage out of the outfit as well, but something about the way they fit her and the inherent sacrilege of it was quite…appealing, to say the least.

"Oh? And why is that, oh great Warden?" asked Morrigan in that haughty, deliberately disinterested tone she had perfected.

"Because," Nicola said with a conspiratorial whisper and a quick, electrifying brush of her lips over Morrigan's, "If you thought _that_ idea was brilliant, wait until you hear the one I have about exactly what we should do with those robes later tonight… _Sister_."

Leaving Morrigan uncharacteristically blushing, Nicola laughed again before taking off after Leliana, smirking the whole way.

It would clearly be a lie to consider today a good day, Nicola mused, but it certainly was going to prove to be a very, very good night.


	7. Chapter 7

Note: Wanted to try writing in a different tense, and turns out I liked it. Reviews welcomed with open arms and potentially, internet cookies.

Disclaimer: None of it is mine except the plot. No copyright infringement intended.

7 - Friday, I'm In Love, The Cure

The first time Leliana bats her eyes at Nicola Cousland, Morrigan does not hesitate to roll her own. Typical, she thinks, stabbing at the burning logs of her campfire. The pushy Orlesian somehow managed to smooth talk her way into the ridiculously naive, unassuming Warden's good graces; how Nicola stands the bard's self-righteousness (or really, any of their traveling companions at all) is beyond Morrigan, but for the moment, she will say nothing.

The second time Leliana brushes imaginary lint off of Nicola's sleeping shirt and her hand lingers far longer than is appropriate, however, it deepens the permanent scowl Morrigan has on her face, and leaves a bitter taste on her tongue. For this reason, she cannot find it in herself to keep biting it.

_ "Must_ you?" She snaps that night at camp, when Nicola wanders over to her tent to engage in what Morrigan knows will be pointless, idle chatter. Nicola is inexplicably, tirelessly, and irritatingly friendly like that, and it drives Morrigan insane.

The blonde Warden blinks stupidly, a habit that Morrigan absolutely _loathes_. "Must I what?"

How the great Grey Warden could be so mind-numbingly dense sometimes utterly perplexes Morrigan on a daily basis. She barely keeps from shrieking when she retorts, "Encourage that…that _girl_ in such a manner. She is absolutely besotted with you - 'tis pathetic, really."

"Leliana?" Nicola chuckles, incensing Morrigan's ire further. "We're simply good friends," she says, standing up to brush herself off. She has the gall to add, "Don't be foolish, Morrigan," which leaves the latter absolutely speechless. But when she adds an inadvertently condescending pat on the shoulder with a dumb smile on her face, Morrigan is positively gobsmacked, then furious. She grumbles to herself throughout supper, and stalks the forest in wolf form in lieu of sleeping that night.

The third time Nicola returns to camp with that stupid, bright smile of hers and gifts for everyone, Morrigan nearly tears out her hair. Leliana does not stop sniffing her hideous, foul-smelling flowers ("Andraste's Grace! How dear of you," she squeals, launching herself at Nicola in appreciation), and Alistair does not stop toying with his mother's locket ("I..I saw this and thought of you," he stutters, blushingly presenting a smiling Nicola with a pitiful rose as a gift in return).

When Nicola presents Morrigan's gift to her last, they are alone at her campsite. Morrigan nearly throws it back in her face, not willing to have her affection bought, not willing to be in the same proverbial boat as those other idiots. She would have, Morrigan reasons later, if the silver chain did not look so good nestled on her collarbone, if the blasted woman did not have such good taste, if Nicola did not look so excited upon presenting it.

The fourth time they pick up a stray to fight alongside them, and he, too, ogles Nicola shamelessly while she is not looking (and sometimes unlike the others, while she _is_ looking), Morrigan can feel her eye twitching, a crackle of magic stinging in her palm, unbidden.

"Have a care where your eyes fall, elf," she stiffly warns Zevran, who turns from leering at Nicola to leering at Morrigan when she addresses him.

"Hmm? Ah…I see," he responds mysteriously. "One must wonder," Zevran grins, "for whom you make this demand."

Morrigan narrows her eyes to slits, scowling when Leliana adds with a smirk, "I was thinking that too, Zevran." The redhead casts a significant glance over to the unassuming Warden, tending to her hound a distance away.

"Ah, yes," the elf continues smoothly. "Do you say this to defend your honor-" At this, Leliana outright laughs - "or to stake your claim?"

"I hate you all," is the best Morrigan can come up with at the moment, before she storms off to her tent.

"What's wrong with her?" Nicola asks innocently, walking over to the two mischievous-looking rogues, Bandit trailing behind her.

"Oh, nothing, my dear," Zevran answers silkily, sliding over to the Warden easily.

Leliana presses herself against Nicola's other side, saying, "Just Morrigan being Morrigan. Now, have I ever told you I like the way you wear your hair…?"

It is the fifth time that a stranger flirts with a friendly (therefore, receptive) Nicola that Morrigan absolutely loses it.

She stomps over to Nicola's tent later that night, while everyone is asleep except for the latter keeping watch, and she barks accusingly, "Are you going to resort to rolling in the mud with the pigs now?"

"Hmm?" Nicola says absently, poring over a map of the Deep Roads with furrowed brows, barely acknowledging Morrigan's presence.

"That tavern wench in Redcliffe!" Morrigan hisses. "She practically threw herself at you!" Nicola shrugs, and Morrigan sees red, snatching the map out of her hands to get her attention.

"Hey!" squawks the Warden in protest. Her ire lessens, however, and she says seriously, "All right. I'm sorry. I'm paying attention now."

"Oh, how very kind of you," Morrigan says snippily, crossing her arms.

Nicola sighs, weary of this conversation already, but not daring to say so. "Just…what is the problem, Morrigan?" She asks innocently. "A kiss is just a kiss. Bella was just…appreciative."

"_Appreciative?_" Morrigan asks incredulously. "Must one show her appreciation with her tongue? How stupid _are _you_?_"

Laughing, Nicola shrugs again, refusing to rise to the bait, and subsequently enraging Morrigan further with her nonchalance. "What does it matter to you?" She asks simply. "We've…shared a bed once, but you said it was nothing but a casual…misadventure, if you will. One that need not continue past the first time, if I recall your words correctly." She paused, feigning a shocking revelation with eyes widening and grinning. "Unless…you are saying you _want_ it to continue past the first time?"

Morrigan wants to slap that smug look off of Nicola's face, aches to wrap her hands around that lovely neck and simply strangle her…but instead, she forcefully grabs Nicola by the collar and drags her into the tent with nothing more than a growl.

The sixth time that night that Nicola leaves Morrigan gasping for air, her throat hoarse and sweat cooling on her seemingly boneless body, she hears the Warden's wicked chuckle and feels her pleased little self-satisfied smirk against the skin where shoulder meets neck. Morrigan lifts her hand to slap it off of her face, but she is too tired and her body is too traitorous to do nothing more than tangle her fingers in blonde, mussed hair.

"I knew you would give in eventually," the Warden says, pleased. "And I do so love it when a plan works out," Nicola whispers heatedly, tongue swiping the salt of Morrigan's skin and sending a delicious shiver down her spine.

Morrigan is outraged, naturally, but she forgets as she groans in agreement when Nicola's hands begin to roam her body once again, the burn of her fury melting into desire.

Perhaps, Morrigan thinks distractedly, as Nicola's light, teasing touches re-ignite fire in her veins, the Warden is not as dumb as she appears to be.


	8. Chapter 8

Note: Whew. First week of classes, one more day tomorrow and then I'm done. How exhausting! Let's just use that as an excuse for how not-as-exciting or well-written this one is, hmm? Thanks to Lehni for recommending this song - it's beautiful and absolutely heartbreaking. I love it.

As always, unbetaed, so please excuse (my dear Aunt Sally) and any or all mistakes. Oh, and I just figured out how to format the chapters even better, so I guess I'm done having a crappy layout. Let me know what you guys think.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except the plot. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

7 - Antebellum, Vienna Teng

Autumn is Morrigan's favorite season.

This is not something she would _ever_ admit to, of course, seeing as having such a ridiculous thing as a favorite anything is simply and utterly impractical and childish. Not to mention stupid. But this is one little thing in which Morrigan allows herself to secretly indulge, for several reasons.

When she is a bird, flying with a flock that easily accepts her presence but cannot truly call her one of their own, the wind is crisp and pleasant.

When she is a wolf, prowling around the Wilds at dusk, the orange brown leaves crunch satisfyingly under her paws.

When she is a bereskarn, wandering amongst the trees, the wicked pleasure she gets from startling and terrifying wayward hunters foraging for winter's rations tickles her pink.

Most importantly, however, autumn is when she meets Nicola.

Their start is rocky, as expected.. Morrigan is wary of the other woman, secretly admiring her strength and capability, but resenting her urge to save every kitten from every Fereldan tree. She is far too despicably nice for her own good.

Nicola is wary of Morrigan as well, but not because of any inherent skepticism (she actually is quite inexplicably trusting), but because Alistair, Wynne, and Leliana will not have it any other way.

Despite this, Nicola earns Morrigan's begrudging respect and subsequently, her intense curiosity and fascination. It is winter when they travel further south, and the winds turn harsh.

"'Tis cold in my tent, all alone," Morrigan pouts, her implications oh so very obvious. Morrigan may not understand Nicola, but she certainly understands this.

Nicola says nothing, just quirks her lips in the rare impish smirk that Morrigan likes, and heads into Morrigan's tent. The sun is rising when Nicola finally rolls over in exhaustion, and Morrigan finds herself sleepily impressed. They discuss it later, of course. Morrigan has no desire to impose on Nicola's freedom, nor to make it a huge, insufferable issue and she says so. She offers the option of this being a one time thing, but she knows it will not be so, if the Warden's smirk is any indication.

"I only ask then that you do not do something foolish," says Morrigan, sliding back into her barely-there robes while Nicola eyes her from the bedroll.

Nicola hums, raising an eyebrow in question. "Yes?"

"Whether this continues or not, do not mistake any of this for something as ridiculous as 'love,'" replies Morrigan, her nose turned upward.

The blonde doesn't dignify the request with a response, although she will never admit that that stung. She merely laughs, and forcefully tugs Morrigan back down on top of her, divesting her of her robes easily.

Later, when Nicola is wolfing down her breakfast by the fire, she blissfully ignores Zevran's knowing little grin, Alistair's frown of disgust, and Leliana's scornful scowl. Morrigan just glares at them all, as per usual.

It is spring, and their affair continues almost nightly. The rest of the party has gotten used to it, except for Oghren, who constantly searches for "a better angle" when Nicola swoops in to steal a kiss from Morrigan occasionally.

By the end of summer, however, having united Ferelden (which is so much easier said than done), they spend a few more nights at the Arl's estate in Denerim. While the Blight looms ever closer, it is an unspoken understanding that they deserve at least one night of fun and leisure before setting off to Redcliffe, and Nicola allows her friends that.

Morrigan overhears Leliana, fawning over Nicola as per usual, and she rolls her eyes but watches like a hawk nonetheless.

"So it's settled, then?" asks the bard excitedly. "You and I, traveling the world after this nasty Blight is finished?"

The blonde's eyes flicker towards Morrigan's briefly, something that Leliana notices but does not acknowledge. "Sure," says the Warden easily, giving the redhead a pat on the shoulder. "Perhaps even some of the others could join us as well, roaming the countryside as we do now," Nicola adds brightly.

Morrigan stalks over to the pair, hovering near Nicola's side. The mage and the bard eye each other, until Leliana mutters absently as she turns to leave, "Yes. But only a…choice few, perhaps."

Later that night, one they spend in the rare comfort of a bed, Nicola pokes Morrigan in the side as they both lay there panting.

"You should be nicer to Leliana," she scolds gently, toying with Morrigan's ring on her finger.

The mage scoffs, rolling over to look Nicola in the eye. "Why?" She asks haughtily, like an adorable but petulant child. "Simply because you say so, great Grey Warden?" She sniffs.

"Of course," Nicola deadpans, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world, and Morrigan cannot help but laugh. Their smiles are mirror images of each other, and upon realization that this has been occurring far too often lately, and that they are leaving for Redcliffe tomorrow, something in Morrigan twists inside her chest, and her face falls.

Naturally, Nicola asks about the sudden change in mood, asking if she is all right, and it is so easy for Morrigan to slip back into her old ways and snap at her. Nicola should not _care_ if Morrigan is all right. She will not do what she deliberately told Nicola not to, months before.

"Not everything must be done at your request, Warden," she hisses, turning her back on the stunned blonde. As much as it stings, Morrigan wills herself not to roll back over and kiss the dumbfounded look off of Nicola's face. This is what she must do, because she cannot allow herself to be anything more than a bed warmer, because she will only make Nicola regret it in the end, and because Morrigan is not Leliana, a nice girl to take care of Nicola like she needs. The mage hears Nicola forcefully pull on her clothes and storm out of the room, knowing that she hurt her a great deal. This kind of power over the Warden is something Morrigan would have reveled in before, but now it only makes her feel sick.

As she falls into a restless sleep, Morrigan remembers that she did not ask Nicola if she really did plan on continuing her travels after the Blight. She knows that it is foolish to plan for their - _a,_ Morrigan amends hastily - future when there is no chance for one.

It is almost fall again by the time the fateful night arrives. Nicola refuses Morrigan's dark ritual, as she just knew she would. Nicola's stupid sense of honor and pride always led her to make the most impractical decisions. When Morrigan screams and shrieks that she _must_ go through with this or else she cannot stay to help, the Warden gets that steely look in her eyes that means she has no plans of changing her mind.

"I love you," says Nicola resolutely and firmly, like she is declaring a war. Perhaps she is, because Morrigan slaps her, and walks out of the room without another word. She does not stay for the final battle, but as she looks on from a distance and literally _feels_ the explosion from the tower miles away, Morrigan finally lets a few tears escape before she brushes them away.

A few days later, when she is in raven form, and hundreds of Fereldans weep down below her, Morrigan simply watches. She is in a tree, whose leaves are burnt brown and orange with the coming of autumn once again. Some are even used with the brittle, dry branches at the base of the funeral pyre, to help the fire along, and Morrigan loathes it.

Morrigan loathes everything now, even autumn.

She flies off angrily before they can even light the fire, and Morrigan bitterly reminds herself how stupid it is to have a favorite anything anyway.


	9. Chapter 9

Note: Mercy, this is a long one. I don't write much in the second-person, and I kind of just sat down, scribbled this out, and wanted to post it, so excuse the probable abundance of errors.

Just to address an important question, I do strive for some internal consistency and try to keep the general personalities of the characters the same, but I'm essentially just imagining different scenarios and putting them in there. Therefore, yes, some chapters will contradict others, because I'm aiming to make each somewhat of a stand-alone one-shot.

Once again, thank you so much for all of your great reviews. It gives me the inspiration and encouragement I need to keep chugging on!

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The structure of this chapter is not even mine - I read a fantastic story in another fandom in which a countdown was the primary backbone, so it sort of inspired me. I have no intention of plagiarizing. No copyright infringement intended, either.

9 - Time Is Running Out, Muse

You stand in front of the door, still as a statue, hand poised to knock. You know deep in your heart that you can either turn back and leave or push forward, but you have never been so unsure of yourself in your entire life.

She has a way of bringing that out in you.

You give yourself ten seconds to decide what to do, because as pathetic as you have become, you will not let this indecision go on for any longer. You will, however, accept that everything that has happened, planned or not, boils down to this small fraction of time. If you choose to forget everything about this fateful night, you know that these last ten seconds you spend thinking will always stay with you whether you like it or not, and your decision will change everything.

10.

After Mother practically forces you to tag along with her and Alistair, you ask her if she wants your direction about how to escape the Wilds, expecting an abrupt dismissal. After all, it's not like they ever planned to take you along, and Alistair seems less than impressed with her decision. But she just pins you with those bright green eyes and smiles - _no one_ ever just smiles at you, and Mother only does it after you've done what she wants - saying that she wants you to speak your mind like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

Ironic, because with that, your mind goes suspiciously blank in your surprise, and you find that for the first time in your life, you have nothing to say.

9.

At camp, when her beast of a hound takes a liking to you and decides to grace you with a gift of a dead rat in your bag, you storm over to her irritably. Your undergarments are ruined, stinking of vermin, and you tell her so, with annoyance in your tone and an angry finger pointed at the dog.

She only grins at you rakishly, patting the Mabari on the head almost a little too proudly. "I suppose you'll just have to go without," she says with a mischievous, suspicious twinkle in her eye.

You huff and stalk away, all the while telling yourself that the flush in your cheeks is solely due to your irritation.

8.

On a cold night after a particularly rough day, you think you've finally got it all figured out. You have never bedded a woman before, but it was not like you were averse to the idea, especially with the way she looks after battle, all sweaty, bloodstained, and proud. A woman has needs, you reason, and besides, surely it could not be that different from sleeping with men.

"'Tis cold in my tent, all alone," you say in a tone you know men like.

With the way that she smirks at you, you find that apparently, blonde Wardens like it too.

When you feel dizzy after just one kiss, however, you admit distractedly that you were wrong. It appears that there is indeed, a world of difference.

7.

Once everyone knows (you are hardly ashamed to be vocal), Leliana eyes you more cautiously than ever. Fed up, you confront her, because while she looks at you with scorn, how she looks at Nicola is quite the opposite.

"I am not fond of sharing," you say casually but with undertones of warning. "You should know this."

She has the audacity to look innocent. "I haven't asked to borrow anything of yours," she replies.

You narrow your eyes, scowling. "Then I warn you," you continue, "that you do not foolishly believe you can steal it either. 'Twould be best if you find your own."

"Find my own what?" she asks, and you try not to slap her right then and there.

If it is a competition she wants, you think, then a competition she shall have. You look over at Nicola, who is beside the campfire playing unassumingly with Bandit, her hair glowing red in the firelight, and something twists inside you.

You never lose, and you are certainly not about to start.

6.

When she gives you the mirror, she is twisting the ring you gave her anxiously and absently. You ask where she found it, but she simply shrugs and smiles, asking if you like it.

You find yourself not caring that Alistair looks repulsed, Leliana is glaring, and Oghren is drooling - you cannot help but pull her in for a kiss.

Sheepishly, she tries to deflect your awkward appreciation. "A beautiful gift for a beautiful woman," she says easily.

Your hand twitches, wanting to brush the unruly blonde strands from her eyes, but there are so many strange feelings swirling inside of you that you are rendered immobile.

You never believed it when someone called you beautiful before, but when Nicola looks at you like that, you find yourself inexplicably starting to.

5.

The one time you see her cry is after you find the Urn of Sacred Ashes, and you are surprisingly not disgusted. If this is not a warning sign that you're in trouble, you don't know what is.

She does not intend for this to happen, as evidenced by her escape into the woods near camp, and how she scrubs at her eyes immediately when you find her.

Neither of you speak; you cautiously sit beside her and place your hand so close to hers that your fingers brush. You don't know if you are supposed to hold her hand or not, or even if that is what she wants. Instead, you simply wait.

After a moment, she simply opens her other palm by way of explanation, showing you the amulet she received in the Gauntlet, tears welling again in her eyes. The reflection in the amulet glints in the moonlight, and you briefly see a glimpse of a man that looks very much like Nicola.

You realize it is not enough this time for you to look to Nicola as to what to do. It is not enough to wait. So you kiss her desperately, and she kisses you back just as urgently. Strangely, the tears you feel from the press of her cheek against yours almost feel like they could be your own.

4.

After she almost singlehandedly escapes from Fort Drakon and returns to you, bloody and bruised, you don't think you've ever been more relieved, but you'll be damned if you ever say so.

"What took you so long?" you ask instead, and the weak smile she gives you, beaten and battered as she is, is brighter than ever.

Later that night, when she gingerly undresses in your bedroom at the Arl's estate, she does not say a word. You are, again, uncertain as to what to do, as you always are around her.

You feel even more at a loss when she just crawls into your bed, naked, and simply lifts the sheet up for you to crawl under as well. When her hands make no move to wander the curves of your body, and she hesitantly, wordlessly wraps an arm around you, you feel the tension in both of your bodies uncoil. It is frightening really, but you refuse to think about that.

You only fall asleep after you hear her breathing deepen and even out beside you, and once you finally do, it is the most restful night you've had in days.

3.

Once you're on the move again, and she approaches your tent and kisses you with purpose, you pull away abruptly. The end is nigh, and you don't know if you're even referring to the Blight anymore.

She looks at you, stung, when you tersely reject her advances. When she asks you what's wrong, you almost whisper everything that has been building up inside of you for months. Instead, you lash out, barking at her that nothing has to be wrong for your wishes _not _to coincide with hers. You are not a common whore, you say, and she does not get angry - damn her, she never gets angry with you - and she just _looks_ at you.

"I never thought of you like that," she says quietly, before hastily making her exit.

After she leaves, you come undone, but you do not seek her out. You cannot afford to let anyone else pick up the pieces except yourself.

2.

"About before," she begins after a week of looking at you like a wounded animal or just plain avoiding you.

"Yes?" You ask, even though you already know where this is headed, and you don't like it one bit.

"I'm sorry," she says simply, and you are taken aback, because if anyone was going to apologize, wouldn't it seem that it should be you? Not that you were going to, of course. But still. Trust Nicola to catch you off guard.

You don't respond to her apology, but you suddenly cannot contain yourself any longer. You tell her how you cannot do this, that you are not a normal woman, and that whatever _this _is will only become something she will regret.

"I hunger for it," you admit, unable to look her in the eyes. "For _you." _Before you allow her even to respond to that, you demand for her to end it. "Let me go," you nearly beg, something you have never done before. "Free me."

There is so much in her eyes that you can't decipher, but her words make it crystal clear. "I can't," she whispers, reaching a hand out to rest on your hip like she always does.

This time, however, you cannot let her, and you feel like something in your chest is about to explode. "You miserable, selfish bastard!" You accuse, shoving away at her hand, when all you want to do is take it in yours.

Her eyes drop to the ground, before again, she turns to leave you. You forced her to, though, because you know you would not be able to cope with the day that she does it of her own volition.

1.

"No," she says resolutely, her voice hoarse and thick from screaming at you. "I can't let you," she continues. "I _won't."_

"This is to _save your life," _you shout, but all of the fight has gone out of her, and she just sits there.

"Was _all _of it a lie?" she asks quietly. "A means to an end?"

Your throat is tight, and you clench a fist. "No," you say. "Nicola, please. Coming to care for you…I-"

"I love you," she says simply, making eye contact with you for the first time since you first told her of the ritual. Like the first time you met, you find yourself pinned by her green eyes, speechless. "Regardless of what you feel for me…_if_ you feel anything for me," she says bitterly. "I love you. And I can't let you do this."

"Then I must go," you say, trying not to sound as broken as you feel. You feel her gaze burning into your back, and it takes everything in you not to turn around. You transform, running down the hall on four legs, planning on leaving before you have to watch her walk off to her death.

Suddenly, however, you find yourself in front of Alistair's door, and you know that this is it. You can knock, and tell him of your plan. Convince him to do it. It probably won't take much, despite the revulsion you feel towards each other, because you know he loves Nicola. You've given him enough icy looks over the past months to dissuade him, but now you're just a little bit glad that he was just as helpless when it came to Nicola as you were.

Or, you think, you can simply turn around and leave. Run away as you always do. Respect Nicola's decision, as stupid as it is, and no one will ever know.

If you do this, you know Nicola will surely hate you for it afterwards. But at least she will be alive to do so, unlike what will happen if you don't. It's selfish, it's unfair, it's wrong, it's what you want to do more than anything. But can you really betray Nicola more than you already have?

It is the epitome of 'now or never.' You stand there, unable to breathe, your hand still poised to knock. Even as time runs out, you are unsure as to what to do - what you want to do or what you should. It seems that ever since you met Nicola, that has been your life, and you are done with indecision.

0.

You're out of time.


	10. Chapter 10

Note: School is hard. So is finding time to write. I'm also thinking of branching out into other fandoms but I haven't a clue as to where to begin. Any suggestions? What else would you read? Also, as shameful as it is, I actually haven't played Awakenings or any of the DLCs. I'm far too attached to my characters and their stories in Origins…hence my excitement yet hesitance towards DA 2.

Also, has anyone played Witch Hunt? I read the synopsis of it and watched clips on Youtube. I have to say, I'm a little disappointed. Maybe an attempt to wrap up the Morrigan storyline on my end will happen soon.

Anyway, enough of that – read and review please! Hope you enjoy. LORDHAVEMERCY I can't figure out how to do page breaks. If any of you know, please let me in on this secret. Otherwise I'll keep oddly numbering things just to separate scenes.

Disclaimer: I don't anything except the story.

10 – They Can't Take That Away From Me, Billie Holiday

1.

It happens when they're on their way back from the Alienage to report to Arl Eamon.

A group of darkspawn attack them out of the blue, and while this is not particularly unusual, how things play out from there, are.

The party dispatches of most of the darkspawn easily, the thick smell of blood filling the air. Nicola relishes in it, flashing a bloodthirsty grin as she and the rest of the group engage the emissary that remains.

No one really expects him to go for Morrigan, but when he swings at her with a broad stroke of his axe, Nicola's already there. As fast as she is, she's not fast enough to avoid harm. The Warden gets the killing blow, but not before he lashes out in a dying rage and easily tosses Nicola with the force of his strike, knocking the wind out of her lungs and sending her flying.

Her rough landing is inevitable, of course, but it's simply pure misfortune that her head painfully cracks against a boulder on the one day it's too hot to brandish her helm.

From there, the blood in her eyes, the concerned shouts, and the footsteps rapidly approaching blissfully fade into darkness.

Everything is fuzzy when she wakes – her vision, her head, the blankets she's curled up in. Green eyes blearily take in the lavish bedroom she finds herself in, and she coughs weakly, clutching at her head. A fresh bandage is covering a part of her scalp, one that she pokes at until a sagely voice interrupts her.

"You shouldn't fiddle with that. It's healing," says an older woman, approaching her with a smile. "How are you feeling?" she asks, handing her a much-needed glass of water, and fussing over her blankets.

"I…am well," is the cautious response. "Thank you…um…" she prompts the woman for a name. She might just be a healer at whomever's estate she was, but it would not do to be impolite, despite how invasive she finds her.

Her attempts not to be impolite seem to fail, however, when the old woman's eyebrows furrow deeply. "I'm sorry, I just—"

"—don't know my name." The brows furrow even more, and some light of realization dawns upon the old woman. She ventures further. "Do you know yours?"

There is a long, thoughtful pause, until the blonde Warden looks up helplessly from the bed and shrugs.

"Oh dear," Wynne says with a sigh.

2.

"Clearly it is only the fault of its soft head that this has happened," Shale says sagely. "Were it a golem—"

"As appreciative as we are of your impressive expertise," Morrigan interrupts icily, "I think a most pertinent question is, what shall we do now?"

The older mage sighs again. "I have seen this kind of damage before. Bumps to the head can involve some sort of memory loss. Whether it is permanent or not, only time will tell."

"Superb," mutters Morrigan, scowling.

"I've already informed Arl Eamon," Alistair says, shifting his weight onto his other foot uneasily. "I don't know if he's notified the queen, but he's on his way here."

"Is there no other way that we can perhaps jog her memory?" Leliana asks Wynne.

"Maybe if we just give her another whack on the head, she'll go right back to normal," Oghren offers gruffly, already forming a fist. He shrinks back slightly when he receives glares from everyone, grumbling, "Just sayin'. Don't get your soddin' panties in a twist."

"Perhaps it is like an old fairytale they tell in Antiva," Zevran says smoothly. "A princess needs to be kissed by a dashing stranger – as you can see, I will probably be the most suitable candidate – in order to wake up. Maybe it will work the same with memory loss?"

"Don't be daft, you lecherous fool," Morrigan snaps.

"Um. Can someone please tell me what's going on?" asks Nicola feebly from her bed.

Bandit just whines, but if Mabari hounds could roll their eyes, he probably would.

3.

"Well, it seems that I have quite the task ahead of me," grimaces the blonde Warden. It's a lot to take in, and she's a little in shock, but it doesn't seem like they have time to waste. She struggles to get up, adding, "I should probably get to it." When a wave of dizziness strikes her, however, she can only fall back pathetically onto her pillows.

"You mustn't overexert yourself just yet," the older woman called Wynne frowns, having remained after everyone else leaves. "We still have some time for you to heal, physically at least."

"And what about my memory? Can't you do some sort of magic or something that will fix this?" asks Nicola helplessly.

The look on Wynne's face tells her everything she needs to know, and she sighs forcefully. "Just rest, Nicola. I will be back to check on you later. Just…try to remember, is the best advice I can give you. Give it time."

"Easier said than done," mutters the blonde after the old mage leaves. The large hound near her bed whines pitifully, and she pats the space next to her. "They say you belong to me. I've always liked dogs. Come up here, boy."

Bandit barks happily, landing next to her with a thump and settling down with his head in her lap. She strokes his fur, trying to remember something about the pup.

_Pup,_ she thinks. She envisions an older man with a kind face saying that to her. _Interesting._

"His name's Bandit," says the redheaded girl from before, a lilting accent marking her words as she strolls into the room.

"Leliana, right?" asks Nicola hesitantly. A smile is her answer, and she returns the grin.

"So, you really don't remember a thing?" asks Leliana, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Nothing at all?"

The Warden shakes her head apologetically. "I'm sorry."

Leliana waves her hand dismissively, smile still fixed on her face. The motion seems oddly familiar to Nicola, but she can't place it. Almost everything and everyone is starting to make her feel like that. Like a word is on the tip of her tongue, distinct memories on the edges of her mind that only stay faded. "It is not your fault. You were protecting Morrigan."

"She is quite…interesting," says Nicola, thinking of the sharp-tongued, fascinating woman. A flash of silver – a locket, maybe? – goes through Nicola's mind, vanishing quickly.

Pink lips purse in muted disgust. "That is one way to put it," replies Leliana. To Nicola's questioning brow, she simply adds, "She and I don't…quite get along."

"Why's that?"

_Because that harpy could never love you as I do. Because she doesn't deserve you. Because you should love me instead of loving her, _Leliana wants to say to this blank-slate version of Nicola. She bites her tongue instead, smiling tightly.

"No reason in particular," she says nonchalantly, taking her leave. Nicola just blinks.

4.

It is late evening when Nicola manages to sneak out of bed and take a stroll around the estate with Bandit at her side. She knows that it's probably dangerous because of those darkspawn everyone talks about, but she can't keep staying cooped up as she had all day. Her head barely hurts, and she no longer feels dizzy when moving, so as soon as everyone stops fawning over her and shooting her worried but hopeful looks, she creeps out for a quiet walk to gather her thoughts, perhaps find things to remind herself of who she was supposed to be. It is silent except for the fluttering of bird's wings, and the caw of a nearby raven.

A whine from Bandit interrupts her woolgathering, and she turns to see a young blonde woman approaching her with a smile on her face.

"Warden," she says warmly, and with that, Nicola finds herself pulled into a gentle, welcoming kiss. The lips that claim hers move in a practiced, soft manner that seems too familiar for this to be the first time it's happened.

As nice as it feels, Nicola pulls away immediately, coloring. "Uh."

"What's the matter?" asks the woman, frowning. "I know things have been different since Cailan and I married, but—wait, what happened to your head?"

"I'm sorry," says Nicola, for what seems like the millionth time that day. "I apparently hit my head and … well, don't really seem to remembering a lot of things right now," she offers.

The blonde woman colors slightly. "Oh…I…well. I can't believe Eamon didn't tell me this already," she mumbles to herself. "I'm terribly sorry about that, then," she adds quickly. "I'm Anora," she says by way of explanation.

Nicola recognizes the name. "My Queen," she says, bowing her head until she is interrupted by a gentle laugh.

"Oh, Nicola. You don't have to do that. We've known each other since we were children." Anora takes the Warden's hand, leading her to the garden. "Come, we shall see if tales of our trouble-making adventures don't jog your memory."

Anora is laughing brightly as she regales Nicola with more of tales from their childhoods, when Nicola's family would apparently visit Denerim and she would play with the queen.

"-and then Cailan, who was being quite bothersome at the time…well, you just ran him right off after he wouldn't stop bringing me flowers when we were about thirteen."

Nicola laughs for the first time since cracking her skull. "And then?"

Anora smiles at her, that same warm smile that almost seems bittersweet for some reason. "And then I hugged you, and when I pulled away—"

An image of a freckled, smaller version of Anora flashes in Nicola's mind. The same feeling of burning heat and embarrassment fills her again when she remembers – oh, Maker, she actually _remembers_ what happens next –

"-you kissed me," says Nicola, realization dawning upon her. "That was my first kiss, wasn't it?" she says with wonder. "I _remembered_ that."

The queen is aglow with pride, nodding excitedly. "We shall have your memory back in no time."

"Tell me more," Nicola insists. "I want to try."

Anora's hand comes to rest atop Nicola's, and only Bandit hears the fluttering of wings as a raven flies away.

5.

"Did I do something to her?" asks Nicola, around a mouthful of eggs at breakfast the next day. She gestures towards the scowling Morrigan who is sipping quietly at her tea.

Alistair grimaces, mumbling to himself, "Maker knows _I _don't want to know what on earth you two get up to at night, what with all that racket..."

"What?"

"Nothing," he says brightly. He gulps down some water, saying, "She's just always been like that. She's the grouchy sourpuss while I'm the handsome friend around to supply endless charm and wit."

He deflates, however, when Nicola eyes him the way she always did before the accident. "Charm and wit?" She asks blankly and curiously.

"Worth a try," he pouts – yet another seemingly familiar sight - digging into his food with force.

6.

"A true warrior does not need to think to fight," says the Qunari seriously, in his deep monotone. "It should come to you naturally."

Nicola grips the hilt of her sword in one hand, and her dagger in the other. Her palms tighten despite being slightly sweaty, and she readies herself in a stance she deems battle-ready. Sten adjusts his giant two-handed blade easily, as thought it were a feather, and Nicola finds herself just a little bit nervous and just a little bit excited.

"Let's go," she says, and with that, he charges her.

What seems like hours later, she pants and grunts in a sneaky move she knows will disarm her large opponent. Using the last of her strength to maneuver, with a flick of a sword, she manages to end it. His sword clatters to the ground, and he looks at her proudly despite having lost.

More flashes of the past fill her mind, and she grins. "You always did fall for that one," she says.

Sten's lips twitch in the approximation of what could be a smile.

7.

"Could we talk?" asks Nicola finally, late one night after having a long discussion with Arl Eamon.

Morrigan turns, with a smirk that's part exasperation, part amusement, and says wryly, "You've forgotten everything else except your affinity for idle chatter."

Nicola stiffens, but continues. She tires of being told what she likes or doesn't like. "Perhaps. But I'm serious."

The mage sighs, barely containing the urge to roll her eyes. "Speak, if you must."

The blonde Warden breathes deeply, shifting her weight uneasily. "I'm…not sure why you don't really like me, seeing as I can't remember, but if I've done something to upset you, I would like to know what it is," she says honestly.

Morrigan frowns, her hand instinctively coming up to fiddle with the silver locket around her neck as part of a newly adopted nervous habit. "'Tis not that simple," she replies vaguely.

"Then what is it?" Nicola insists. "We need to work together soon, whether I have my memory or not."

"Is that so?" snipes Morrigan with a hiss. Everything about her seems like a wounded animal, Nicola thinks. _Morrigan. Animal. Huh._ A flash of a wolf with Morrigan's eyes perplexes Nicola for a moment.

Nicola just sighs, thinking this could be a lost cause. When the other woman does not seem to offer anything further, Nicola tries again from a different angle. "That's a wonderful necklace," she offers. She does not notice Morrigan's back stiffening rigidly, but she does notice how the mage jerks her hand away and scowls. "It…looks beautiful on you," adds Nicola lamely.

Morrigan clenches a fist, scowling. "Is there anything else utterly fascinating you are going to add to this conversation?"

Ignoring her, Nicola asks gamely with a shrug, "Who gave it to you?"

Apparently it is the wrong thing to say, because Morrigan whirls around and her face is inches from Nicola's, contorted in anger. "You did," she hisses. "_You_ gave it to me. Just like I gave you that ring."

Nicola looks down at the silver adornment on her ring finger in surprise, and then back to Morrigan. "Were we…?"

"Yes," bites out Morrigan. She is barely holding back her anger when she scowls, "Yes. We were."

"Oh," says Nicola dumbly.

"But apparently you and the queen were as well," says Morrigan, crossing her arms.

Nicola just looks at her blankly. "Anora said that after she married Cailan, we stopped seeing each other on amiable terms."

"Yes, well," huffs the mage, pacing back and forth. "No matter. 'Twas _she _who had the magic ability to help you remember," she grouses.

"Are you jealous?" asks Nicola incredulously. Morrigan glares at her silently. "I can't help what happened. I can't help what – or _who -_ makes me remember and what doesn't," she argues. When the other woman does nothing more than continue to scowl at her, Nicola continues, "Maybe if you spent more time trying to help me remember rather than _glaring _at me like this is _my fault_-"

"It _is_ your fault," Morrigan shouts accusingly. "I do not know _why_ you think you must always leap to my rescue, but I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And look what happens when you play hero," she says snidely.

Bristling, Nicola growls, "Well, maybe if you weren't always in trouble then I wouldn't have to keep playing hero."

"Oh, is that so?" Morrigan asks dangerously.

Frustration and rage burst within Nicola, thoughts and memories and emotions raging past floodgates she didn't know she had. "Yes!" She shouts angrily, waving her arms emphatically. All of the times she got upset with Morrigan being careless come easily to mind, but she barely notices. "Like in Lothering when those bandits got the drop on you, or in the wyrmling lair when you took on that drake _alone,_ or that time in the Brecilian Forest, the werewolves nearly _devoured_ y-"

Morrigan looks at her incredulously. Then, pointedly, with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh," Nicola deflates. She had begun to think regaining her memory would be eventful, or that she needed to trip and land on her head or something. This just seems anti-climactic and well…slightly embarrassing.

Morrigan only smirks in this way that Nicola remembers that she likes, sauntering over to her and draping her arms around the Warden's neck.

"'It seems that maybe I _do_ have the magic ability to help you remember," preens Morrigan, peering at Nicola from underneath dark lashes. "Recall this?" She asks coyly, brushing her lips against Nicola's once, twice. There is a swipe of her tongue, and – _oh._

Nicola pulls away, dazed by the turn of events, and as always, by Morrigan's touch. "Somewhat," she grins, before leaning down once more for another kiss. "But perhaps you should keep reminding me."


	11. Chapter 11

_Note: Sorry for the late update. Midterms are coming up and I've been exhausted lately. Hope that explains the crappy quality of this one. No editing, as per usual. Kindly read and review. I think I'll need the extra encouragement just to survive the multitudes of papers and exams to which I'll be subjected in the next week or so. Thanks for reading!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the plot._

* * *

_I Want You To Want Me, Cheap Trick_

Morrigan's very used to the game of cat and mouse, but that isn't to say she's not tired of it.

When she approaches Nicola, strutting with her typical confidence, she knows that she's going to get what she wants. She always does, somehow.

"I want to accompany you and the others when you go out scouting later," Morrigan says, shooing at Leliana with a glare. The latter mutes her indignant squawk at being interrupted, but mutters something nasty before shooting Nicola a flirtatious look and leaving. Morrigan purposely ignores this, continuing, "I am perfectly healed and I am most prepared to—"

"No," Nicola interrupts, shaking her head already. "Oghren, Alistair, and Wynne are going to be joining me on this one."

Morrigan bites back a pout, because being cute with Nicola never really worked. Instead, she just scowls again, crossing her arms. "I am _fine," _she emphasizes, holding back the urge to stomp her foot. "What do you expect, a little jig to show I am of perfect health?" She asks bitterly, already finding no reason to argue with the stubborn blonde.

A bark of laughter escapes the Warden before she smiles and winks. "As much as it would…please me to see that little show, I'm going to have to say…no. Again. I'll see you in a bit, Morrigan." With that, she leaves with the two warriors and elderly mage, heading off into the nearby woods.

The tips of Morrigan's ears feel suspiciously hot in light of Nicola's tone, but she ignores this. "'Twas not for your amusement," she mutters, before stomping back to the campfire.

Later, when Nicola returns bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, she has a gift for Morrigan. Morrigan supposes that this somewhat makes up for leaving her out of things, but still acts a little cold when Nicola first approaches her.

"Yes?" asks the mage icily.

"There was a merchant lost out in the woods," explains Nicola brightly, ignoring Morrigan's ever-present mood. She shows Morrigan a beautiful silver necklace, small in Nicola's calloused, dirty hands. "Couldn't find his donkey or something. Saw this and thought of you, though," the blonde says, Grey Warden bravado gone in the face of shyness.

Morrigan does admit that it's pretty, and looks up at Nicola through dark lashes. "It appears I will need your help putting it on, Grey Warden," she says in a low tone of voice.

There is a visible falter in Nicola's step when she approaches the dark-haired woman, but when she leans forward and wraps her arms behind Morrigan's neck to seal the clasp, her breathing is low, steady, and even. Morrigan can smell the scent of grass, steel, and something distinctly Nicola. She finds that she likes it, and before the other woman pulls away entirely, Morrigan places a warm hand on Nicola's cheek.

The blonde looks as though she's been struck by an arrow, but she doesn't move. "Morrigan?" she asks weakly, as the hand caresses her face before making a slow journey towards her neck, trailing fingertips and all. Morrigan's lips are dangerously close to her own, and she visibly swallows.

"Come, my Warden," Morrigan purrs, inching her mouth ever closer. "Is there any reason not to?" When Nicola doesn't answer, Morrigan takes further initiative, lightly brushing her lips against the other woman's in an effort to coax out a response.

Nicola thinks Morrigan must be part desire demon to get this kind of reaction out of her, which is why she kisses back. There are a thousand reasons she shouldn't be doing this with anyone, especially Morrigan. Because Morrigan was mean and rolled her eyes at helpless villagers, was sarcastic and cruel to Leliana, made fun of Alistair and never wanted to help anyone, and was…apparently very skilled with her tongue.

"What?" Morrigan nearly growls out when Nicola abruptly freezes and pulls away immediately.

"We…we shouldn't," justifies Nicola, as if convincing herself. "We _shouldn't_ do this…But—"

Nicola expects the exasperated eye-roll, but not the bitterness and anger that colors Morrigan's voice. "I shall not even bother to ask why. Presumably your attachment to your little worshippers there," Morrigan says, gesturing towards Alistair and Leliana, far off on the other side of camp. "Perhaps you've even taken one of them as your lover," she adds.

"I…" Well, that's certainly not it, Nicola thinks, considering she's never shown the slightest interest in either of them beyond friendship, never noticed that they might have. "No. Neither of them—no," she stutters unbecomingly. The blonde clears her throat, saying resolutely, "I'm not interested in either of them that way and _no one's_ my lover."

"Fine," Morrigan bites out, turning back towards her tent with a dismissive wave of her hand. "'Tis quite clear it is only I you find unappealing." She doesn't mean for it to come out sounding so pathetically, but it does, which is why Morrigan flees into the sanctuary of her tent and leaves Nicola spluttering out in the cold.

The next morning, the atmosphere is chilly, not just because of the weather. Morrigan glares at Nicola when she deigns to look upon her, and everyone else knows not to say anything. When they disband after their breakfast and go to break camp, Nicola approaches Morrigan once again, decked out in her full armor for the day. It's quite symbolic, Morrigan bitterly thinks, that Nicola needs to wear armor when interacting with her. She's also just desperately trying to ignore how attractive Nicola is when she's in her well-fitted chainmail.

"About last night," the blonde begins, her imposing figure belittled by the cautious expression on her face. She deliberately keeps her tone light, and approaches Morrigan like she's a wounded bear, slowly and carefully.

Sighing heavily, Morrigan feigns an air of indifference. "Must we do this?" she asks sharply.

"Morrigan," Nicola cuts in sternly, eyes steely and determined. Her voice goes low, almost in a growl, like it does before battle, and Morrigan shivers a little. "Last night, I … I said that we shouldn't do this." She stalks towards Morrigan like a wolf, slow and assured. Powerful.

"I…Of this I'm aware," Morrigan says falteringly, and it's indiscernible to her whether the way Nicola's looking at her is arousing or terrifying. She kind of likes it.

"Yes, well," Nicola says roughly, pinning Morrigan against a nearby tree with her weight, hands gripping the mage's slim waist tightly enough that Morrigan relishes in the fact that this will probably bruise.

"Yes?" Morrigan asks breathily, realizing in one fell swoop that this entire time she's probably been the mouse in this little game and she didn't even know it.

The predatory gleam and the wicked grin on Nicola's face confirm it, and Morrigan finds herself delightfully surrendering, admitting defeat. Despite the loss, however, Morrigan wins when she gleefully hears Nicola's next words.

"I said that we shouldn't. But I didn't say that we weren't going to."


	12. Chapter 12

_12 – There Is A Light That Never Goes Out, The Smiths_

_Note: Exams have been beating my ass, but they're almost done. My birthday is on Friday, and as excited as I was not to have a weekend full of studying/work, I got assigned two papers today. Fun._

_Anyway, I've been a little morose, and I wanted to expand on this scene in the game. I feel like what with getting captured afterward, they didn't dwell too much on Howe's death. I was personally furious that it was so…anticlimactic. I'm also working on a longer story for another chapter, so I just scribbled out this little ditty. Please let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!_

_Disclaimer: I don't even own a good GPA right now._

1.

Power and darkness intrigued Morrigan more than it could ever frighten her. She loved the idea that darkspawn blood tainted Nicola's, that there was the worst darkness flowing inside of that pure heart. It didn't help that Nicola looked absolutely magnificent on the battlefield, covered in blood and in the midst of a berserker rage. The trill of desire that tickled Morrigan every time Nicola was at her most fearsome, her most powerful, always delighted the mage.

But this was different. Nicola was more than covered in blood: she was drenched in it. Only her white teeth and bright green eyes stood out, her blonde hair matted and muddied with her enemies' blood. She had brutally hacked her way through the guards: instead of her usual quick, merciful dispatches through stabs to the heart, Nicola had swung her sword and slit throats, beheaded soldiers, disemboweled others.

The rest of the party stood agog as they watched their leader stalk towards the dying man on the ground.

"I…deserved more," Howe growled as he clutched at his fatal wound, copious amounts of blood spilling the floor.

It wasn't enough. There could never be enough blood to replace her murdered family's, Nicola thought. Even though he was the one dying, Nicola still felt like she couldn't breathe, the burning haze of her fury still devouring her. She regretted cutting him so deeply; she wished he put up a better fight, wished his death would be slower, wished that he was actually a good fighter. She had disarmed the old bastard in a second.

The blonde leaned over his prone body, locking cold eyes with her family's slaughterer and pressing her dagger to his throat.

He sneered despite the blood bubbling in his mouth. "You…you look just like your beautiful mother."

"Shut up," she snarled, grabbing him roughly with one hand and holding him up by his bloodied lapels.

He merely grinned, teeth pink with blood and spit. "If your pathetic father hadn't been dying so quickly, I would've made him watch his whore of a wife do more than kiss my feet."

Even the rest of the party that had been watching like hawks could not tell what had happened. When Nicola tried to recall it later, all she could remember was that it felt as though time had stopped. After that, it was a blur, up until she could recall Alistair dragging her away from Howe's mangled form that no longer resembled a body, and Leliana wrenching the bloodied dagger from her hand.

It was strange, she thought, because she could hear screaming, like the screams of the dying. But Howe's mouth was forever shut.

It was only until later that she realized the screams were hers.

2.

"We…we must get the Queen," Nicola said numbly after they regrouped in the hallway of the dungeon. "We must hurry."

Alistair looked unsure, and Leliana looked a little frightened. "But…" she started hesitantly. Only dull green eyes met her questioning gaze.

"Do not stand there like fools," snapped Morrigan at the two of them. "Go ahead of us and at least remove the queen from that room. We will meet up with you before we leave the castle," she said. When Alistair looked as though he would protest, she gave him the coldest look she could muster. "Now."

When the two left, Morrigan turned to find Nicola staring at her bloodied hands blankly. "Warden," the mage said quietly, trying to get her attention. Nicola remained unresponsive. "Nicola," Morrigan said, her tone imperceptibly softer.

Nicola had never looked more like a child than she did then. Gone was the stoic Grey Warden, and in her place was the little girl who just wanted her family back. "Why don't I feel better?" she asked, so quietly that Morrigan strained to hear her. Her face crumpled, as though she was about to weep, but her eyes thankfully remained dry.

Morrigan had no answer, so she simply brushed some matted blonde strands out of Nicola's eyes. Her fingers trailed down the side of Nicola's face, caressing and soothing her in a way that her words probably could not.

"This feeling," Nicola whispered. "This...pain. I thought that once I had my vengeance, I would be satisfied. But I'm not." She swallowed heavily, her voice hoarse with emotion. Her chest felt constricted. The heat of her rage had morphed into a heavy weight in her chest, and it was difficult to breathe. The scent of dried blood made the air too thick. "I don't know what to do," she admitted weakly.

Morrigan always thought she kissed simply as a precursor to making love, but when she brushed her lips against the Warden's, it was meant to reassure and to comfort, rather than to ignite desire. The warmth that Nicola's kiss always brought was still there, as despondent as the blonde was.

"'Tis simple, my Warden." At Nicola's questioning look, she stroked a thumb over her bottom lip. "We shall figure it out together."

As Morrigan edged closer to her, gone was the heavy stench of blood and sweat, replaced by the mage's familiar enchanting scent.

Nicola felt a modicum of peace and just breathed.


	13. Chapter 13

_Note: Weird mood. Couldn't sleep or find a song for this one. It's more of a scene than anything that makes real sense. Thought of it after a lot of weird dreams of my own, and then I wondered what would've happened if Morrigan was able to escape the Fade as well, since she already knew it was all a dream. Thanks for reading! Kindly review. Alleviate my gloom._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Unedited, etc._

When Morrigan finds her in the Fade, she's playing with a small boy, helping him balance the weight of her sword in his hands. The smile is unlike one she's ever seen on Nicola's face before: gone is the tinge of bittersweet sadness or grimness that always marks the Warden's face, and in its place is pure, unadulterated happiness. Morrigan thinks she's never seen anything like it before, this smile.

It fades immediately, however, when the Warden senses Morrigan's approach. "No," she whispers quietly, but Morrigan hears it anyway.

"Who's that?" asks the boy curiously, struggling to swing the greatsword by himself as Nicola shushes him, and turns towards the advancing mage.

"Warden," says Morrigan stiffly. For some inexplicable reason, she feels uncomfortable. Regretful, even, if she believed in regretting her actions. The clarity in Nicola's green eyes tell her everything she needs to know. "You know this is not real," Morrigan states, not harshly, and not expecting an answer.

She gets one anyway, and the desperate tone in Nicola's voice is unexpected as well. The blonde's voice never sounded this broken, this small. Morrigan never even thought it could sound this way. "Please," she says softly, begging without anything further. Morrigan hates this, but she's not sure what "this" exactly is.

"Aunt Nicola?" says the small child, interrupting the unspoken conversation between the two women. Nicola winces visibly.

It becomes clear to Morrigan, and her understanding of what is happening grows deeper. "Your family," she says, both a question and an answer. She feels unsure and hates it, hates being uncertain, but only Nicola could make her feel like this. "Warden…" she begins, then adjusts her tone, softens it. "Nicola."

Nicola cringes again. "I wasn't going to stay here forever," she says, resignation, embarrassment, and regret coloring her speech. "But I just…"

Morrigan nods. "But we all must wake up from our dreams, sometimes."

"But this isn't a dream, Aunt Nicola." The child's voice is petulant, and for a horrifying second, Morrigan thinks Nicola's eyes look especially glassy with what could be tears. "You can't leave me!" he says. "Not again," he whines.

Nicola's back stiffens visibly, and if Morrigan thought that hearts could actually _break_, this is what it would look like: the strongest, fiercest person she had ever known being rendered nearly to tears by the petulant cries of a small boy that looked barely older than seven summers.

"Where are you going, Pup?" A man who looks much like Nicola materializes, his voice resonating through the foggy mist of the Fade.

"Darling, you can't be leaving us again," says another figure. A woman dressed regally, head held high. Her eyes are a deep green, like Nicola's, and Morrigan feels that she knows too much, has seen too much.

The Fade spirts' eyes glow red, and their faces transform from human to demon. Nicola's eyes are shut too tight to see any of this. With teeth bared and red eyes glowing, the demons snarl and growl and accuse.

_ "Why did you leave us?"_

_ "How could you leave us to die?"_

_ "I expected more from you, Pup…"_

Nicola crumbles, literally _crumbles_ in front of Morrigan, clutching at her ears and shouting, louder, and louder, "Stop…_STOP!"_

The Warden makes no move for her sword while the spirits advance on her, shouting and screaming. But with a flick of her hand and a muttered spell, Morrigan easily eradicates the spirits from the realm, and they vanish into the mist. The cacophony of demonic screams is gone, and all that is left is Nicola's labored, broken breathing.

When the blonde finally looks up at Morrigan, there are streaks of dirt on her red face, sweat droplets on her forehead. But there are no signs of tears. Blood mars Nicola's bottom lip, her own teeth marks bitten deeply into it. Her teeth are stained with red.

It is an odd sight. The Grey Warden on her knees, bleeding and dirty, broken and confused, while the dark apostate stands unmarred before her. Then Morrigan leans down and crouches as elegantly as she can in her ragged skirts, dirtying her bent knee, before holding Nicola's face in her small, unblemished pale hands. She leans forward and her lips brush against Nicola's, tongue tasting the metallic spark of blood. When Morrigan pulls away, her lips are red too.

She stands, pulling the Warden to her feet, and they slowly, silently walk back to the edge of the Fade, waiting to wake up.


	14. Chapter 14

_AN: Sorry this took so long! In between finals, FINALLY playing ME 1 and 2 (and loving it, subsequently writing a short little story about it because how attractive is Miranda?), I was strapped for time. I've been working on this piece for awhile but only recently finished. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think._

_Disclaimer: I own nothing. And this piece also assumes you could choose to reject Morrigan's addition to the party at first._

_Short Skirt, Long Jacket - Cake_

Before her family was murdered, it was not uncommon to see Bryce Cousland's youngest with an easy, charming smile on her face meandering about the castle.

Before she joined the Grey Wardens and poisoned her blood with a darkspawn's, Nicola could sleep without nightmares of dragons and death plaguing her every night.

Before she was one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden, before Loghain's betrayal at Ostagar, Nicola was not the only one her country could count on.

Before _everything_, Nicola Cousland was an entirely different person than she was now.

"Do you ever…you know…" Alistair hedged as he and Nicola made their way out of the Korcari Wilds.

She looked at him sharply. "What?"

His sheepish smile looked like that of a clumsy boy of twelve summers, and not that of a distinguished Grey Warden. She scowled. "I don't know…smile, sometimes?"

Only a terse reply was his answer. "I used to." She hadn't smiled in weeks, actually. Not since that fateful night at Cousland Castle.

Realizing that no elaboration was forthcoming, Alistair cleared his throat and continued, desperate to break the deafening silence that overcame the two. Nicola did not seem to mind, her eyes focused ahead and nowhere else. "So…" he began. He didn't notice Nicola's attempt to bite back a sigh. "That Morrigan…she was something, huh?"

Nicola only grunted, stepping over a log. A crow cawed, the only other sound besides the squelching of their boots in the mud, and her mabari Bandit's panting.

"Right. Well. I think it was a good idea not to take her along, no matter how much that old woman insisted. She seems a little…crazy, actually," Alistair mused aloud. "Morrigan, I mean. No, wait. Both of them, really."

Nicola exhaled roughly. "We don't know who we can trust," she said simply, the burn of too many betrayals still stinging. Nicola didn't mention that she meant that _she_ didn't know who to trust. Even if Alistair was a seemingly harmless supposed comrade, the blonde still believed that in light of the past events, using caution was the only way to go. She gripped the hilt of her dagger out of habit. "Her skills would have been useful, and we do need all the help we can get. But we don't need to put people in danger unnecessarily. She mentioned nothing of her fighting skills, and her death would have been as inevitable as it would have been needless, had she joined us."

Alistair snorted, jokingly replying, "_That _part's debatable."

Pinning him with a hawk-like stare, Nicola scowled and stopped abruptly. "Don't you think there's been enough death already?" she snapped, clenching her teeth.

Alistair blanched. "I…I'm sor—"

"Save it," she said tersely. "Let's hurry."

The campfire they made on the edge of the Wilds was small and smokeless, as Nicola's father taught her to do when they went hunting. They ddin't need to attract any more attention than they probably already had, what with Alistair's stomping around. The cold Fereldan winds did nothing to better Nicola's grim mood, and Alistair fell asleep uneasily, giving her first watch.

As she was staring into the fire, Nicola felt an imperceptible shift in the air as Bandit stirred from his sleep. Without looking, she flung her dagger off to her left with precision honed for years. There was a thump as it pinned a tree.

…as well as the paltry robes of an indignant mage.

Morrigan floundered with as much dignity as she could muster. The dagger missed her shoulder by a mere finger's breadth, and she plucked it out with a snarl. "Was that absolutely necessary?" she snapped at Nicola, who calmly regarded her.

"Thought you were a bandit," Nicola replied flatly, her unblinking stare and dry tone indicating that was quite far from the truth. "You've been following us for hours."

"Who's there?" Alistair said, sitting up to attention as he roused from sleep. "Oh, Maker," he sighed, blinking. "Tell me I'm dreaming. A nightmare, that is," said the Warden, eyeing their camp's intruder.

"Clever," Morrigan said snippily, easily dismissing Alistair.

"What are you doing here?" asked Nicola.

"You will be in need of my assistance," insisted Morrigan. "'Tis foolish not to accept it."

"You didn't seem to want to join us before," Alistair pointed out.

"After much deliberation, I have decided t'would be best if I joined you. And besides, Mother did not warn me of her plans to shove me off on the next passerby. I do not enjoy surprises," responded the mage, settling down on the log next to Nicola. The latter twirled her dagger in her fingers, a warning and distrust in her eyes. Morrigan resisted the urge to sit up straighter.

"Neither do I," replied the blonde Warden. "But as I said before, we will not need your assistance."

"Or the burden of making sure you don't, you know. Die," said Alistair, who withered a little when Nicola shot him a glare.

"On the contrary, Warden," said the mage coolly, ignoring Alistair. "I am more than capable of taking care of myself. And I have a near mastery of the magical arts." She sent a little zap of lightning at Alistair's foot, who yelped. "Perhaps you shall need further demonstration?"

The blonde sighed, capitulating. "Unnecessary. You may sleep over there," Nicola said, pointing across the fire.

"What?" squawked Alistair, still clutching his foot. "Are you insane? What about what you said before?"

"It's not like we can stop her from following us," explained Nicola. And besides, if the mage wanted to risk her life, then so be it. It was no skin off Nicola's back, as long as the witch didn't put a knife in it while she wasn't looking.

"Don't trust me to sleep next to you, Warden?" called Morrigan from the other side of the campfire with a small smirk playing across her lips.

"No," was Nicola's flat and immediate reply.

Morrigan smiled, but it looked much like when Bandit bared his teeth. "I knew I liked you."

"This is such a bad idea," grumbled Alistair as he flopped back down into his bedroll in a huff.

They were a few days from Lothering when they came across a small lake in which they all could take a much-needed bath. Once they set up camp, Nicola left to bathe without another word, blissfully leaving Alistair and Morrigan alone at the camp.

Or so she thought. She was in the middle of washing her hair when she called out dryly, "Is voyeurism a characteristic of Korcari residents?"

Morrigan blanched a little at first, then regained her composure as Nicola kept her back to her. "'Tis difficult to sneak up on you. Perhaps we should not be so afraid of a darkspawn surprise attack as we are."

"Is that what you were trying to do? Sneak up on me?" Nicola dipped her head under the water to rinse it out, surfacing with a deep breath and shaking water out of her eyes. If she noticed Morrigan's poorly hidden sharp inhalation, she did not mention it.

"You flatter yourself, Warden," said Morrigan breezily. "I simply did not want to wait to partake in the pleasures of standard hygiene." She slipped off her boots, beginning to undress and indicating that she had no qualms about her modesty. Nicola did not expect as much. "Nor spend my time with that idiot eyeing me from across the fire," she added, starting to unhook the back of her robes.

Morrigan continued to disrobe, almost daring Nicola to keep watching. It was a challenge, almost, to see if she could fluster the apparently unflappable. When Morrigan was down to her bra and moved to slip it off, she was almost grinning to herself at Nicola's unblinking stare, surely out of stunned embarrassment.

Before she removed her bra, however, Nicola merely stood up from the lake, walking towards the shore. Water cascaded down her nude body, sliding down the sleek skin and well-formed musculature. The naked Warden looked just as confident as she did in full armor, and Morrigan found herself suddenly without any sharp retort.

"See you back at camp," said Nicola flatly, after she shrugged into her clothes easily, hair dripping wet.

Morrigan huffed in irritation. The air still smelled of Nicola's soap.

It was after they got to Lothering and Nicola broke up the fight between the old Chantry sister and the merchant that the tension between the two women came to a forefront.

"Are you telling me to leave?" Morrigan nearly shouted at the ever-calm Warden's face. She was enraged. Nicola's stone demeanor was unshakable, and this was utterly infuriating.

"I am telling you to mind your words. What you do is irrelevant to me," replied Nicola. "Except when you undermine my authority when I'm trying to exercise it."

The _nerve_. Morrigan scowled, biting back, "Oh, I forgot that I am traveling with the mighty Grey Wardens. Shall I bow down now or later? 'Twas you who said you wanted me to speak my mind, was it not?"

Alistair smartly kept his mouth shut, shifting the weight on his toes as Bandit seemed to shoot him a sympathetic look.

Nicola fixed Morrigan with a steely glare, her voice even. "I prefer that everyone feel free to speak his or her mind." At this, Morrigan scoffed, and Nicola's green eyes turned to ice. "But belittling me, insulting me, or sarcastically rejecting _everything I say_ in front of the people we are supposed to help does not instill in them any faith in the Wardens, which we need. Because lest you forget _this_ – " she said, her cold anger rivaling Morrigan's hot fury, "As of right now, _we_ are the only ones that can save Ferelden, and _you_ wanted to join _us_."

The Warden was damnably right, but Morrigan was not about to wound her pride even further. She huffed and stormed off without another word, leaving Nicola with her arms crossed.

Bandit whined a little, and Alistair nodded sympathetically as he watched Nicola eventually stalk off in the other direction. "I know the feeling," he said to the dog, sighing heavily. Alistair supposed supper would be up to him again that night.

Morrigan hated Nicola. Hated her inexplicable kindness towards the weak. Hated her need to help everyone under the sun. Hated her expressionless face and dry commands. The only times Morrigan was sure Nicola was not dead on the inside or secretly a golem in human form was when the blonde helped poor wretched souls that didn't deserve it, or when she was on the battlefield, a bloodthirsty gleam in her eyes and a devilish smirk on her face. Which Morrigan hated too, because as was the rest of Nicola, the half-grin was infuriatingly but ridiculously, inexplicably attractive.

A throat cleared, interrupting Morrigan's mental rant and her attempt to shove her clothes into her traveling pack.

The mage's eyes narrowed dangerously upon seeing who it was. "What could you possibly want from me? I do not know any spells that will make one smarter."

Alistair scowled, crossing his arms. "Listen. As much as I hate to say it, I don't think you should go."

Raising a curious eyebrow, Morrigan said, "…You can think?"

"All right, I get it, you think I'm dumb, blah blah," Alistair said, annoyed. "The point is, a mage would be pretty useful, especially one that knows how to heal and fight."

"'Tis strange that you are being the logical one. Or did Nicola send you so that she could save her Grey Warden pride?"

Alistair stiffened, real anger coming to his eyes. "She was right, and you know that. None of us wants to be doing this. It isn't the greatest feeling in the world knowing that everyone's counting on you. We do need all the help we can get, as long as it doesn't come with the price of your bitchy rants all the time that make people turn against us even more than they already have. Don't punish Nicola just because your mother didn't love you enough."

So the dumb kitten did have claws, indeed. "Oddly defensive, are you?" Morrigan asked slyly. "Might someone have a little crush on our little leader?"

Trust Morrigan to deflect. Resisting the urge to blush, Alistair blurted accusingly, "I wouldn't be the only one."

Morrigan felt as though one of her lightning bolts had backfired. "I—"

Holding up his hand to shut the witch up for once, Alistair continued. "The point is, if you do decide to stay, give her a damn break. A lot was taken away from her before Ostagar, and obviously since then, a lot's been put on her." With one last meaningful glare, Alistair left.

Lost in thought, Morrigan hardly noticed she had absently already begun to unpack some of her things.

"Perhaps I should not have...done that," Morrigan said slowly as Nicola barely acknowledged her presence, whirling around the open space doing her sword drills at invisible enemies.

"Is that your way of apologizing?" asked Nicola dryly, not even stopping in her movements. She panted as she thrust and parried at darkspawn only she could see, working out her aggression and frustration. Her shirt clung to her back, doused with sweat.

"_No_," Morrigan said in a defensive tone. "I am simply…stating that my actions were…perhaps not the most appropriate at the time."

"Right. Well, I appreciate your…thing that was not an apology." Nicola moved on to her strength training, getting low to the ground and starting a series of pushups.

Morrigan eyed Nicola's form as it moved like a machine, soft grunts and exhalations the only sign that the Warden was exerting herself. Morrigan found herself absurdly aroused.

"Would you stop that?" She hissed with irritation.

Nicola was not unaware of the hungry eyes that trailed over her body as she continued exercising, but she chose not to comment. "I need to train," she said simply. When Morrigan frowned and bid her leave, the most playful tone she'd heard herself use in what seemed like years came to her voice.

"Does that mean you're staying?" Nicola called out with a gleam in her eyes.

Only when she was sure Morrigan was gone did Nicola feel the strangest sensation. Muscles she had thought must have atrophied awakened and stretched, the tension in them oddly pleasing.

She was grinning.


	15. Chapter 15

_Note: Happy New Year's! Whoa, this one took forever. I haven't played the Witch Hunt DLC, so the most research I could do involved youtube and the DA Wiki. Any inaccuracies about that are probably due to my ignorance. Nonetheless, I hope you guys enjoy. Thanks for reading, and please, please review!_

_Oh, and sidenote, working on my multipart Mass Effect story is beginning to take precedence over this (and I'm running out of songs on my playlist), so I'm not sure how frequently or for how much longer this collection's going to be updated._

_Disclaimer: Unbetaed, not mine, etc. etc._

_**Kiss With A Fist, Florence and the Machine**_

She knows it's wrong from the beginning.

She's not stupid, and it's quite obvious. Morrigan's a cruel bitch, and Nicola's the savior of Ferelden (if she succeeds in her quest, at least.)

Despite all of this, Nicola finds herself sleeping with Morrigan anyway, when the other woman approaches her on a cold night with lidded eyes and a curious, sultry tone. Nicola doesn't think that it's such a big deal, because she doesn't sleep with Morrigan to feel nice and warm on the inside. If anything, it's to get rid of that smoldering heat that consumes her, that fire that's not quite battle lust anymore but rather, a perpetual burning that's a mix of rage, desire, and quite possibly, the taint.

It's of no consequence, however. It's a mutually beneficial relationship and everyone at camp with their strange, doubtful looks doesn't know a thing about Nicola's life. She's not a selfish person; if anything, being a teryn's daughter teaches her to tend to everyone's needs, make everyone happy with the most amount of tact.

But her family's dead, she's the last of the Grey Wardens, and there's a giant political shitstorm she's got to deal with before killing a bloody archdemon. She'll take pleasure where she can get it, even if it's in the form of Morrigan's snide remarks and her sharp nails drawing blood on her back.

She knows it's wrong from the beginning, but she refuses to do anything about it.

.

.

.

With as much foresight as she had, one would've assumed Nicola would've at least prepared for the inevitable. One can't spend every waking moment with a person and share her bed without developing some sort of attachment, whether she admits to it or not.

"Do not look too far into this, Warden," Morrigan warns, handing her a shining ring. "It's imbued with magic, simply for practical purposes."

"Yes," Nicola agrees, pulling Morrigan closer and donning her with a silver necklace. "As is this," she says, closing the clasp and pressing a warm kiss to Morrigan's earlobe.

The mage's breath hitches and her eyes turn dark. "Is that so? Mine will locate you if you ever become separated from us. What does yours do?"

"Adds to your beauty," teases Nicola. "And therefore, makes you a fraction more tolerable."

Morrigan scowls, and that little wrinkle between her eyebrows that Nicola always delights in makes an appearance. "Well, then. I am unsure if I can _tolerate_ you in my bed tonight," she sniffs haughtily.

Nicola shuts her up with a kiss. "That's a pity," she says, pulling away.

Morrigan looks a little dazed, and her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes narrow, but her tone is not as venomous as she would probably like it to be. "I hate you."

"Of course," Nicola agrees reasonably, the hands she has on Morrigan's hips sliding up slowly, torturously towards her breasts. She smiles into the next kiss she bestows upon Morrigan.

This isn't love, but it certainly isn't hate. Whatever it is, however, has them both waiting (im)patiently for the other shoe to drop.

.

.

.

The shoe does, of course, drop at the most crucial of moments. The end is nigh, and Nicola finds out that either she or Alistair will die saving the world. Before, she would not have felt so poorly about it: all she needed was her revenge against Howe, and for the world to be saved. If she died, then so be it. She didn't really have anything to live for anyway. Now, however...there seem to be some consequences that she is having trouble with. Like, not seeing Morrigan scowl anymore, or listen to her rant about everything under the sun.

She thinks heavily about what this means and decides that maybe she should just get a good night's rest, when she comes across Morrigan staring into the fire in her room.

It's a pleasant surprise, of course, but at the same time, it's a bit nerve-wracking. There are words caught in her throat that have been threatening to spill out for weeks, ever since Morrigan starts self-sabotaging again, and practically begs Nicola to release her from the trap of a relationship they're in. Words whose meaning even Nicola doesn't know and can't decipher.

But it's of no consequence, however, because they know their time is running out, and as much as they burn and bruise and hurt each other, they cannot let go.

"Are you all right?" Nicola asks, stepping forward cautiously.

"I am fine. 'Tis you, who are in danger," says Morrigan ominously.

"Well, we are in the middle of a Blight." Nicola slouches against the nearby stonewall, watching Morrigan with crossed arms.

"Now is not the time for your glib remarks," Morrigan scowls.

"Nor is it time for your foreboding secrecy," retorts Nicola, as Morrigan comes to stand in front of her menacingly.

It's always like this, really. Sniping at each other, bickering like children, until they make up (usually in bed) much later like adults.

Morrigan doesn't take the bait. The mage clenches a fist, and grates out, "I know what that Grey Warden told you tonight. I know what will happen when you kill the archdemon."

"How?" asks Nicola suspiciously.

"Flemeth told me, before I joined you and Alistair. She also told me of way to prevent this from happening," says Morrigan.

"Why would Flemeth know?"

Morrigan huffs a little. "Why do you think she saved you from the tower that day? Do you think it was out of the kindness of her heart?" She snarls.

"I had hoped," Nicola deadpans. "What is the point of all this, Morrigan? What are you trying to tell me?"

Morrigan blinks a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. "When the archdemon is slain, its essence goes into the Grey Warden that kills it and dies along with her. If we perform this ritual that Flemeth spoke of, then there is a way to lure that essence into an unborn child, saving the life of the Warden."

Nicola looks skeptical. "Blood magic?" she asks dubiously.

"'Tis irrelevant. What is important is that you will be saved, and the archdemon will be slain."

"And what of this child? Will it be hurt? Will it become another archdemon?"

"It will have the essence of an Old God, but it shall not have the corruption that darkspawn have," Morrigan replies. "All we would need is a child borne of a Grey Warden's essence, which will be bright enough to act as a beacon for the archdemon's to find."

The implications of Morrigan's idea hit Nicola like a boulder. Incredulous, Nicola says, "You're asking me to allow you to sleep with Alistair." It is not a question.

"I do not need you to _allow_ me to do anything, Warden," Morrigan remind sharply. "I am not your whore." Her acidic tone grates on Nicola's nerves, and she can't stand it. She can't stand anything about this situation.

Her retaliation is immediate and unplanned, but it is retaliation nonetheless. It's always, always like this. "This is why you joined us all along, to get this Old God's essence for Flemeth. You lied to all of us. And carried on with me for no reason other than cruelty," she bites out, clenching a fist. "Whore is the nicest thing I could probably call you right now," she snarls.

A hand whips across her face, leaving a stinging mark on her cheek. "You would do well to watch your mouth, Warden." Morrigan turns away, furious, to face the fire once again, but it is a mistake. Nicola angrily grabs her delicate wrist, and yanks her back towards her, whirling her around so the mage's back slams against the wall hard enough that she's seeing stars. Nicola pins the smaller woman with her hands, bringing her face within inches to Morrigan's. Curbing her rage is proving increasingly more difficult.

The sound of Morrigan's ragged breathing, as well as the challenging, angry look in her eyes makes Nicola want Morrigan to hurt as much as she does. The kiss she steals from Morrigan is rough, leaving both of them bruised and panting.

When she pulls away, Nicola's lip bleeds from Morrigan's bite, but she kind of likes the way the red of her blood looks tinged on Morrigan's lips. "Was all of it a lie?" the Warden demands, but it sounds more hurt than angry, suddenly.

She's only seen Morrigan's bright eyes soften like this when they're making love, but Morrigan falters, uses the same hand that slapped Nicola to caress her the same bruised cheek. Her voice is as tender as Nicola's ever heard it. "No. Not all of it," she says softly. It paints a strange picture, this. With Morrigan being calm and Nicola unruly and bitter.

"I don't understand," Nicola says roughly, looking away. "If this ritual is performed…"

"You will be alive, and I will take the child and leave. You are never to search for me, Nicola."

"Why?" Nicola says, trying to hide the desperation in her voice. It is pathetic. "How can you want this? I thought…"

"I have feelings for you," Morrigan says matter-of-factly, even though it's the first time she's ever admitted it. "And they are all the more reason for the ritual. I would rather have you live and never see you than to stare at your funeral pyre."

"And if I don't agree?"

"Then you will be an idiot. And I will leave tonight, before the final battle, and you will most likely die. Do not force it to come to that, Nicola," warns Morrigan. Her face softens again, almost imperceptibly, but her voice is much quieter. "I am…asking you."

She knows this can't be a good idea. But if this is all true, then she will live and seek out Morrigan nonetheless, and either way, the Blight shall end. She dares not think of the possibility of the child having the taint anyway.

She breathes heavily, sighing and resting her forehead against Morrigan's briefly. "I suppose I shall have to go convince Alistair, then," she says hollowly, pulling away.

This time, it is Morrigan that catches her by the wrist, but her grip is firm and not painful like Nicola's was.

It is the first time Morrigan has smirked like that in days, and her bright eyes look up suggestively at Nicola.

"The ritual has to be performed with a Grey Warden and tonight. Those are the only requirements."

"So?" asks Nicola. She looks decently confused.

"So, as skeptical as you are of it, magic _can_ do wonders. Such as, help produce a child, regardless of the parents' genders," Morrigan says, hintingly.

Recognition strikes Nicola like an arrow. "…Oh." She walks over to the bed and collapses onto it, sitting down in shock. The child would be…it would be hers. And Morrigan's. The world shifts once again.

"Yes," Morrigan agrees, shutting the door and locking it. When she turns around, she's already unhooked the back of her robes, and they fall to the ground with a whisper. "I take it I have your approval?" She asks, while Nicola's eyes remain steadfastly attached to someplace significantly lower than Morrigan's eye-level.

She isn't selfish, Nicola reassures herself. She's just rolling with the punches as best as she can.

"Yes," she says, as her hands automatically go to Morrigan's hips as they straddle her.

She knows it's still wrong. It's probably even worse. But she can't stop now, and now that the other shoe has dropped, the only thing left to fall and crash is Nicola.

.

.

.

There's something bittersweet about it all.

There's a bone-deep exhaustion that makes it hard to lift her sword. There's blood, some of it hers and some of it not, clouding her vision. There's the knowledge that this may or may not work, but both outcomes are equally negative: die on the battlefield, or die slowly everyday she cannot see Morrigan or her—_their—_child.

But there's also the satisfaction that soon this will all be over. There's Morrigan watching her as she lifts the sword high and slams it down with all of her force into the archdemon's skull. There's the gathering of energy that makes it difficult to keep the sword there, a rushing, whooshing sound that indicates an explosion is imminent. If she doesn't die because Morrigan's ritual didn't work, then she'll probably die from the blast.

"Nicola!" she hears Morrigan shout, before the bursting flames and deafening roar block everything else out as they're all tossed backwards like ragdolls.

There's something bittersweet about it all, because it's _over_, and it's so satisfying that as the darkness envelops her, Nicola doesn't care if she'll wake up or not.

.

.

.

She does, however, and it turns out that it's not over. In a sense, it is, as Alistair's grown up a bit to rule as king with his new wife, Anora. Ferelden is safe, the Blight is wiped out, and it turns out Fergus is alive.

No one even questions why she lived, chalking it up either to a fluke or Nicola's amazingly strong constitution. Wynne looks at her a little suspiciously sometimes, as if she knows, but she never says anything.

Everyone does ask her constantly what she plans to do next, and she always hesitates because even she doesn't know. She never really planned this far.

So, she stays at the castle for a little while, and it's nice to be treated as kindly as she was before when she was a teryn's daughter. It's nice to be the hero of Ferelden.

What isn't nice, however, is that she barely sleeps at night, either thinking of Morrigan and their child, or avoiding nightmares of her family choking on their own blood and Howe laughing somewhere, as if she hadn't slit his throat.

It all changes when she feels Morrigan's ring practically burn on her finger, senses Morrigan's twinges of doubt, regret, and sorrow that are reflective of her own. It's interesting in a way. She can feel everything Morrigan's feeling in a sense, when before, she could barely grasp what Morrigan was thinking.

The days are long and the nights increasingly more torturous because the burn of the ring constantly tingles. Thoughts of Morrigan are omnipresent, now.

A year later, after spending her days cooped up in the castle, or doing inconsequential favors for the kingdom or its people, Nicola hears news that a strange witch-woman was seen traveling in the southern regions. Her heart leaps into her throat. She knows instantly who it must be.

The kingdom is sad to see her go, and King Alistair warns her to be careful of what she may find. But she sets off immediately anyway, shaking off his warnings, and with Bandit trailing behind her as always.

She knows it's wrong from the start of her new journey, as she envisions Morrigan being furious for seeking her out. But this time, she refuses to do nothing about it, because Nicola's tired of waiting, tired of taking what she can get. She's a Cousland, and she's a Grey Warden. It's time to take what she wants.

The new dreams she has are of a child she holds in her arms. It's got her dirty blonde hair, and Morrigan's bright, burning eyes. Nicola doesn't have trouble sleeping after they start.

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Her journey takes her far and wide, through Flemeth's hut, the Circle of Magi, the Elven Ruins, and finally, in the Dragonbone Wastes. It's not easy. It never is, but it's made a little better by the Dalish elf, Ariane, and the mage, Finn. It's nothing like travelling with her old companions (save for all the fighting) but she's not alone anymore, and that's got to be enough.

"You fiddle with that a lot," Ariane notes absently, nodding towards Morrigan's ring as Nicola does exactly that.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes, I suppose I do," the Warden responds, almost embarrassed at being caught.

They trudge through the thaig, occasionally encountering those Ancient Elven Guardians that are a bitch to kill, but it only makes Nicola delight in having good opponents again, in doing more than solving disputes between farmers back in the kingdom or sitting on cushy chairs.

"I'm still alive!" Finn says joyously, once they kill the last guardian.

"Yes, well, can we begin the ritual now?" asks Nicola. Finn brings them to a location that he assures will be appropriate for the scrying ritual, but he looks a little hesitant to begin at first. "What is it, Finn?" the Warden asks impatiently.

"This may attract some…ah, unwanted attention," he says nervously.

"We'll handle it," Ariane replies. It appears that Nicola always attracts unwanted attention, and this time is no different, as several waves of Shades begin to attack them while Finn performs the ritual.

When it's all over, Finn looks as relieved as he always does after a fight, while Ariane and Nicola have barely broken a sweat and still look impatient.

"The Dragonbone Wastes?" asks Nicola.

"From there, we should be able to locate the Eluvian," replies Finn.

"And Morrigan," Nicola says, almost to herself, twisting the ring on her finger without realizing it.

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Finn practically soils his pants when the giant spider-looking creature ambushes them.

"Varterral," says Ariane incredulously, as the thing hisses and spits poison.

Leaping out of the way and brandishing her sword and dagger, Nicola shouts, "I don't care what it's called, let's just kill it before it kills us!"

That battle isn't easy either. Nicola eventually lands the killing blow, but she doesn't go unharmed. The poison makes her feel a little sick as it seeps into her skin until she takes an antidotal potion.

They rest for a moment until the potion sets in, and Nicola feels invigorated both from the toxins disappearing and the anticipation building. She can feel it in her bones. They are close, and the ring tingles almost like it's impatient too.

Later, her heart's pounding so loudly she's sure the others can hear it, and her rapid heartbeat's not because of the hundreds of crazy cultists and drakes they slayed on the way there.

She can see her for the first time in a year, pacing impatiently the way she always did. Nicola falters in her step, and they all stop dead in their tracks.

"The Eluvian," says Finn breathlessly. "It's glowing, we should—"

Ariane puts a restraining hand on his chest, looking at Nicola's stunned, immobilized figure. Her face is expressionless, but those green eyes always gave her away.

Morrigan touches a hand to the glowing mirror, and Nicola's breath hitches in her throat. "I think she's been expecting you," says Ariane softly, nudging Nicola forward.

She still hasn't taken her eyes off Morrigan, even when she gets a little shove from Ariane and a whispered reminder to ask about the book. Bandit doesn't show the hesitance that Nicola feels, bounding up to Morrigan and barking happily.

Morrigan bends downward to pet him, smiling softly, and the growing pressure in Nicola's chest almost gets to be too much at the sight of it. She wants to run and hold Morrigan close; she wants to turn around and never think about her again.

Morrigan's always been able to draw her in, however, like some sort of magnet. She can't stop herself, even when the mage stands and crosses her arms expectantly.

"No further please, or I'll leave. For good, this time." Of course Morrigan's first words to her after a year would be a threat.

A myriad of emotions course through Nicola's veins like fire, and again, she feels like she's burning up from within. "Leaving me once wasn't enough?" While Nicola tries to sound harsh, she just sounds bitter and broken.

A flash of emotion crosses Morrigan's face, but she does not address the retort. "I assume you know what this is. I have gone to great lengths to find and activate this; I will not hesitate to use it, and where I go, you will not be able to follow this time."

"All I ever see is your back, Morrigan," Nicola says, shaking her head. "I did not come here to fight, so when are you going to stop running?"

"Is that not what we do?" asks Morrigan pointedly. "It has always been fight or flight with us." Nicola scowls. "So, tell me, Warden. Why did you come?"

"Because I wanted to see you. And I wanted to see my child," she said defiantly.

Morrigan's smile is bittersweet. "And you said love does not make you weak. Look at you, chasing after me like a dog," goads Morrigan.

This time, it's Nicola who won't rise to the bait. "No," she says firmly, taking one cautious step towards Morrigan and looking up at her with earnest eyes. "I'm chasing after you like someone who's lost something she loves."

Morrigan has the decency to look a little mournful. "Nicola, I do not understand you. And you do not understand me."

"Then _help me_, Morrigan. Is it not enough that I so desperately want to?"

The mage wrings her hands momentarily. "I would not even know where to begin."

"Start by telling me what you're up to," persists Nicola. "What are you planning?"

"My plan is to leave, and to prepare the child for what is to come. For this, I need time and power." Morrigan pauses. "I dare not say more, even to you."

Nicola tries to reign in her frustration at always being kept in the dark. "Where is the child?" She asks roughly. She does not say "my."

"Safe," Morrigan reassures, and her expression softens minutely. "She is an innocent, and knows nothing of her background or her destiny. But I must prepare her. That is all I will say."

The anger Nicola has been containing bursts forth. "How can you do this? How can you not tell me anything, and betray me again like this?"

Scowling, Morrigan crosses her arms, and a fire ignites in her eyes. "Do not speak to _me_ about betrayal. It was I who told you not to follow."

"I don't have to listen to everything you tell me, Morrigan," Nicola bites out bitterly.

"Then listen when I tell you this: it is not I you should be wary of. Flemeth is the true menace," warns Morrigan.

The Warden scoffs. "She is dead."

Morrigan shakes her head. "She has cheated death. I myself do not know what she is, but my mother could very well be beyond human," Morrigan says. Nicola still stares at her, scrutinizing. "Change is coming, Warden," warns Morrigan. "You may fight against it or embrace it, but change is inevitable. Sometimes, change is what will set you free."

Nicola ignores her initial inclination to keep her distance, and steps forward so that she is standing directly in front of Morrigan. "Is that what you want?" She asks softly. "To be free?"

"What I want—" Morrigan starts, then catches herself. "What I want is not important."

"It is to me, Morrigan," says Nicola, reaching out with a calloused hand.

When Morrigan shies away immediately, Nicola tries to ignore the sting of it. The other woman at least has the decency to look regretful. "I must go. I cannot be here any longer," she says with finality, turning to climb the steps and stand in front of the Eluvian. Nicola follows her without a sound, but when Morrigan turns to her, she breaks her silence.

"And I cannot be without you any longer," Nicola says firmly. "Take me with you."

The surprise on Morrigan's face would be amusing were it any other occasion. "You cannot know what you ask, Nicola," she says. "'Twould…be best for you to stay. For you. For…both of us." Her tone is a little bit sad and hesitant.

"Since when have I ever done what's best for me?" asks Nicola wryly, but she's got that determined expression on her face. Morrigan's seen this look on Nicola's face many times before when they used to travel together, this look that says she won't change her mind. Morrigan's always secretly liked it.

This time, when Nicola reaches out, Morrigan does not recoil from her touch. Instead, she smiles gently, allowing Nicola's hands on her hips to tug her closer, and resting her hands on the Warden's shoulders.

"Then come, my love," she whispers, and Nicola's heart soars, that heavy pressure in her chest evaporating so quickly, she instead feels weightless and airy. "We shall face the future together," Morrigan says, holding her hand as they both turn to enter the glowing portal.

"Together," affirms Nicola, as everything in her past, present, and future seems to click into place, with Morrigan and their child in the center of it all.

There is no doubt or fear as she holds Morrigan's delicate hand in her larger one and they step into the unknown. All that's present is the feeling and thought that for once, _this is right._

She knew something was wrong from the start. What she didn't realize was that it was she all along.


	16. Chapter 16

**_Note: So, my ME story and impatient waiting for DA: 2 is consuming my life. I'm also completely out of songs for this, so if you have any recommendations, please let me know. I decided to use just a 50 word prompt, one sentence for each word, so I apologize in advance for the run-on sentences. I hope you guys are still with me on this one, and thanks again for reading and reviewing!_**

**_Disclaimer: None of it is mine, but if it were, I'd make Morrigan's storyline wrap up far more neatly._**

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Comfort : Nicola still looks shaken by the time they return to camp, especially because Alistair doesn't stop shooting her angry, accusatory looks; Morrigan glares back at him, and in the privacy of her tent, she kisses Nicola to wipe away images of the murdered demon-child in Redcliffe.

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Kiss : Nicola insists that she didn't suggest anything to Bella and that the waitress did it of her own volition, but Morrigan makes her sleep in her own tent alone that night anyway despite Nicola's exaggerated pout.

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Soft : As angry as Morrigan pretends to be with her, the look in her eyes is impossibly soft as she finally agrees: "Then let us face the unknown together, my love," and they walk through the Eluvian.

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Pain : She pretends she doesn't care, that it was just sex and nothing more, but Morrigan can't help but clench her fist when she watches Nicola smile at Leliana over the campfire for a moment too long.

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Potatoes : Potatoes are all they can really afford on their meager savings, and when Morrigan gets a nasty blow to the face, it's difficult to chew, making supper a dreadful affair: that is, until Nicola passes out everyone's plates with boiled potatoes, and Morrigan notices she gets the only one whose potatoes are mashed.

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Rain : Despite Morrigan's snarky comments about how foolish this is, she lets Nicola drag her by the hand into the woods out in the rain, and kisses her back when the blonde swoops downwards, nose dripping with rainwater and mouth whispering, "I've always wanted to do this."

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Chocolate : It looks disgusting and brown and Morrigan's instantly wary of anything new, but with Nicola smiling at her like that and offering it to her with her fingers, Morrigan bites into it, pleasantly surprised by the bittersweet flavor, forever associating the sweet tang with Nicola's grin.

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Happiness : She hates her for it, and meant it when she said she wanted Nicola to let her go, to release her; that doesn't mean she's not a little bit pleased when Nicola refuses and kisses her anyway.

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Telephone: "Nicola's…turned into a whore again? What?" Alistair squawks before Leliana shushes him and goes back to whispering, hissing, "_No, _you dolt, I _said, _'Nicola's been sleeping with Morrigan!"

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Ears : "They're cute," Nicola says, tugging on one before Morrigan swats her away irritably as she finishes her story about how Flemeth always made fun of how small her ears were; they infuriatingly turn red at Nicola's laughter.

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Name : When she hears the name "Cousland" from a stranger, it suddenly all makes sense: Nicola always did seem like royalty to her somehow, no matter how much blood and dirt she got on her armor.

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Sensual : "Maker's breath," Nicola swears as Morrigan conjures up dark heat on her fingertips, and drags them slowly down Nicola's body, "Maybe magic isn't so bad after all."

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Death : Morrigan watches the funeral pyre burn from a distance, and for once, since her childhood, feels regret.

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Sex : She'd been with men before for her own manipulative fun, but being with Nicola is entirely different: "Oh," she gasps out, as she watches the crown of that blonde head glide downward towards the juncture of her thighs, and her eyes roll back in her head.

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Touch : She is like a wounded lion, roaring with anguish, covered in the blood of her kill, in Howe's blood, until Morrigan places a surprisingly gentle hand on her shoulder, and the screams in her head and her throat go deathly silent.

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Weakness : "I don't care what you say," Nicola whispers heatedly, passionately, as she glides her hands down Morrigan's nude form, "Whether this is love or not, I never feel stronger than when I'm with you."

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Tears : "It had to be done," Morrigan says softly as she watches Nicola roughly scrub at her eyes, blaming the dust, as she looks at Connor's lifeless body.

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Speed : Although she has no magic powers, Morrigan thinks that Nicola sometimes _is_ a shapeshifter, transforming into a graceful, vicious mountain lion as she roars into battle, golden and sleek.

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Wind : Nicola can't stop laughing and Morrigan glares despite the unstoppable blush on her cheeks: "I warned you about the wind," the Warden says, grinning as Morrigan tugs her robe back over her briefly bared chest.

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Freedom : She is bound to Nicola by her love, and she hates it, wants it to stop: then warm green eyes catch hers over a campfire, and the flutter in her stomach makes her feel like she can do anything.

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Life : A Redcliffe villager's baby clutches wonderingly at Nicola's outstretched finger as its mother continues to thank the Warden profusely: "Now this is what I'm fighting for," Nicola whispers to Morrigan, who rolls her eyes but smiles a little, nonetheless.

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Jealousy : "Her fairytales are stupid and useless," she gripes as Nicola takes leave of the bard and approaches Morrigan, silently laughing until she shuts the mage up with a kiss: "So is your jealousy, darling."

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Hands : When Nicola notes absently how tiny she finds Morrigan's hands to be, the mage simply grins wickedly and places one coyly, pointedly on Nicola's breastplate: "It does not make them any less capable, now does it?"

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Taste : Her mouth is warm despite the cold of the Frostback mountains, and Nicola tastes like cider and something else, both familiar and thrillingly new.

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Devotion : "To tell you the truth, I don't really believe in the Maker," Nicola whispers to Morrigan one night after listening somewhat attentively to Leliana's stories of Creation; Morrigan barks out a laugh, and Nicola basks in her smile.

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Forever : "This cannot go on forever," Morrigan insists as the day of the final battle approaches; Nicola's mouth refuses to agree as it goes on kissing her, but her eyes say it all just as they always have.

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Blood : "You idiotic fool!" Morrigan panics as she presses her hands desperately against the openly gushing wound that would not be there had Nicola stupidly put herself in harm's way for her sake; "Just a scratch," Nicola notes groggily before she dreamily passes out.

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Sickness : "How is it that you can face hordes of darkspawn but cannot manage to make your own tea when ill with the common cold?" Morrigan asks bitterly, handing a pouting Nicola a handkerchief as she sneezes but boiling the water nonetheless.

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Melody : When Nicola absently begins to hum the song Leliana sang just the night before, Morrigan glares at her pointedly until the Warden meekly silences herself: "It's catchy," she protests, as Morrigan rolls her eyes.

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Star : "What if they're not little lights," Nicola muses one night in bed, "What if they're miniature explosions?": Morrigan snorts and rolls over, mumbling, "You and your fool ideas," before she kisses her goodnight.

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Home : Leliana asks her what she shall do when this is all over, if she shall return home to Highever; Nicola looks discretely at a brooding Morrigan a distance away and whispers, almost to herself, "That is not where I consider home anymore."

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Confusion : "What is that?" Leliana asks curiously, pointing at a dark purple spot on Nicola's neck; "Just a bruise," Nicola says easily, glaring at a snickering Morrigan.

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Fear : Morrigan once said she was not afraid of anything, that nothing mattered more than survival: but then again, she said that all before she met Nicola.

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Lightning/thunder: She doesn't tell Morrigan, of course, but she secretly thinks of them as lightning and thunder: two equally powerful forces that ultimately, are borne of something one and the same.

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Bonds : The look Nicola gives Bandit after laughing at Morrigan's ruined underwear predicament is far too conspiratorial for the rat in her bag to be a coincidence.

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Market : Morrigan hates markets until Nicola drags her to one and while she isn't looking, buys her the most beautiful necklace she'd ever seen, slipping it beneath her pillow for her to discover the next morning.

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Technology : "Flint, to make our fires more quickly," Leliana says to Nicola proudly as she pulls some out of her bag; the wind goes out of her sails, however, when Morrigan smirks and flicks her wrist, igniting a giant flame for the campfire.

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Gift : With one simple gesture and an embarrassed grin, Nicola manages to put a real smile on Morrigan's face and mend a piece of her broken childhood back together when she hands her a simple golden mirror one day in the middle of Orzammar.

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Smile : Morrigan is a sight to behold no matter what state she is in, but when she smiles out of pure amusement on certain occasions, Nicola swears it's like looking into the sun: painfully beautiful.

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Innocence : "Normal women do not act like this, do they?" Morrigan asks desperately, and Nicola doesn't know what to say except, "I don't want a normal woman. I just want you."

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Completion : "Of course I…have feelings for you," Morrigan says to Nicola, and as uneasy as she is, saying the words aloud fills some empty space in her chest she didn't know existed.

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Clouds : "I think that one looks like a bear," Nicola says, pointing to a giant cloud above as they walk; Morrigan snorts and says such games are childish, but when Nicola isn't looking, she looks upwards and surprisingly, sees the hint of grizzly ears.

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Sky : "What is it like to fly?" Nicola asks one day, and before she can stop the thought, Morrigan thinks to herself that it is nothing compared to how she feels when she is with Nicola.

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Heaven : "No, I don't believe in a heaven," Nicola says to Leliana one day, adding as she glances back at Morrigan, "I think I've got all I want here in this life."

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Hell : While Nicola's captured, Morrigan can feel the pain and fear tingling through the ring, and until they can figure out how to get Nicola out of there, Morrigan realizes she finally gets what Nicola meant when she said there were things worse than death.

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Sun : She is practically royalty but she does not have the pale skin of a lady who spends her days indoors: no, Nicola is tanned and bright from her time outdoors, and Morrigan wouldn't have it any other way.

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Moon : Nicola traces Morrigan's skin with her lips, thinking to herself that it is as pale as the moon, and just as luminescent.

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Waves : Morrigan is furious when they stand on the edge of a large lake and Nicola unceremoniously, spontaneously, shoves her in, but it is Morrigan who gets the last laugh as she takes a handful of water, freezes it, and launches it at the Warden's giggling, fleeing form, delighting in the resounding 'Oof!'

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Hair : Large hands tangle in her hair and scrape at her scalp, tugging and pulling and driving her mad: Morrigan wonders absently as Nicola kisses her over and over again that maybe, she should start letting her hair down more often.

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Supernova : She has had sex many times before, but nothing ever amounted to a feeling such as feeling as though she is about to die of pleasure_: _"What in damnation was that?" Morrigan gasps out breathlessly, swatting at Nicola when she says cheekily, "I believe it is called a climax, love."

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	17. Chapter 17A

**Note: OHMYLORD, I've been obsessed with playing DA2 over and over again (I know. Loser points.) I'm interested in what you guys thought of it. Likes/dislikes? Definitely into the new combat system and how sexy everyone looks. (Except for Zev. I thought he looked different and not in the hot way. And Isabela? DAT ASS. She and Miranda should battle that competition out.). And can we just talk about how glorious it is that EVERYONE IS BISEXUAL. TAKE THAT, MORRIGAN/MIRANDA DAMN GET WITH IT. Anyyyyway. I'm majorly behind on a lot of things I've been wanting to write, so I decided to post the half of this one-shot that I do have written and will post the rest later. Let me know what you think. Thanks! You guys are like, totally my favorite.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, etc. etc.**

* * *

As soon as she caught sight of him, she immediately rolled her eyes and heaved a large sigh, which may or may not have been exaggerated.

"What could you possibly want?" Morrigan groused acidly.

He smirked. "From you? My dear, so many things," leered Zevran, twirling the dagger in his hand quite dexterously.

"'Tis not enough that you must hound me all day, is it? Come to harass me more at my own campsite?"

"I would like to think of it as paying homage to a beautiful, vibrant woman such as yourself," Zevran protested. At yet another one of Morrigan's patented eye-rolls, he pouted. "Must you think the worst of me? Suspicion is so unbecoming on a lovely girl."

Raising an eyebrow, Morrigan lifted a hand that ignited with a dark, burning flame. "As are burns that cover an impetuous elf's face. I grow weary of your simpering come-ons. Say what you will or go bother the Warden. Nicola seems far more receptive to your rather irritating qualities than I."

He held his hands up in a conciliatory fashion, although his eyes remained cool and knowing. "Ah, but that is what I came over here to discuss, my dear. Our fair Warden," he said, nodding towards the blonde figure in the distance, chatting by the main fireside with Leliana. "I have a proposal for you."

She eyed him with thinly-veiled suspicion, then deadpanned: "For the fifth time, I _will not_ sleep with you, Zevran."

The elf barked out a laugh with a sparkle in his eyes. "A pity, it is true. But actually, what I wanted to discuss was not my relationship, or lack thereof, with you. Rather, yours with the Warden."

Morrigan scoffed. "What relationship? Have you cracked your skull again, you blathering fool?"

Tutting, Zevran inched closer to the fire, and ultimately, to Morrigan. Holding out his hands to warm them, he casually continued with the same irritating nonchalance that Morrigan always despised. "The one that you _want_ to be having with Nicola, my dear."

Perhaps it was the seemingly knowing look in his eyes, or his forwardness, but Morrigan instantly scowled. The narrowing of her amber eyes did nothing but make Zevran's grin widen. "Do not be such an idiot. I know not of what you speak," she sniped, the ephemeral faltering look in her eyes giving her away.

Zevran shook his head knowingly. "I have seen the way you look at her. How close you two have become, no matter how much you push her and everyone else away." His tone, ever playful, now held an underlying current of seriousness. "But what are you waiting for, I have wondered to myself." He tapped a finger against his lip in an exaggerated pantomime of thought. "Am I mistaken? No, it is impossible, I told myself. I am well-versed in the ways of love," he grinned, "And I can recognize such a…desirous look anywhere. No matter how much one may try to hide it," he said, looking pointedly at Morrigan.

"I have had enough of your idle chatter," she barked out, glaring. "'Tis quite clear you have lost your mind, and I have no desire to waste my time with such a fool."

Zevran could barely hold back a laugh, his look turning devious. "It is your sharp tongue that probably puts her off, you know," he whispered conspiratorially to Morrigan, ignoring her scowl and her angry demand. He shrugged nonchalantly, preparing to take his leave, before he tossed out a few casual words that fueled the flames of Morrigan's outrage. "But it is evident that you could not refrain from saying one rude thing for even one minute."

It was Morrigan's turn to scoff. "'Tis evident that you do not know the first thing about me. I could go a whole day without being 'rude' as you say. I simply choose not to, for it serves no purpose."

The elf chuckled. "My dear, did you ever notice that you get this charming little wrinkle between your brows when you lie?"

Unbidden, her hand flew to her forehead in concern to feel for the aforementioned wrinkle until she realized what she was doing. Scowling, she let her hand drop back to her side, holding it there resolutely. "Did you ever notice that I can light practically anything on fire? Flesh? Fine Antivan leather?" she asked threateningly.

Zevran shrugged, circling her, seemingly in thought. "You know, I am willing to put coin on it even."

"A bet? How…unsophisticated of you, elf," Morrigan noted snidely. "I have no desire to pander to your ridiculous notions, nor to waste my time and money on them."

"Ah-ha!" he shouted triumphantly, startling her and causing Nicola and Leliana to look at him suspiciously from across camp. He waved back sheepishly before casting an accusatory gaze towards the apostate, whirling to face her. "So you admit it will be a waste of your money. Because you admit you will lose."

"How dare—"

"It is all right, my dear," Zevran interrupted smoothly, condescendingly patting Morrigan on the shoulder before she could slap his hand away. "I should have known you would not be able to resist your…baser instincts." He looked pathetically mournful. "Alas, it would have been a hollow victory nonetheless, I suppose."

Morrigan seethed. "I _never_ lose," she snarled. "And trust that I will rise to the challenge, you blighted idiot."

Inwardly, Zevran clapped himself on the back, having maneuvered poor Morrigan exactly where he wanted her. "Lovely woman, with that sort of look on your face, you are getting … crucial … parts of me to rise as well," he leered.

Laughingly, he easily dodged the bolt of fire Morrigan launched at his feet.

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The next morning, desperate cries for help sent Nicola and Leliana running towards the source, leaving the two other party members in the dust. Morrigan pointedly took her time in trailing after them, and Zevran hovered nearby, just waiting for one mean comment to escape her lips.

"So, one full day," Zevran said casually, as if Morrigan had already forgotten their bet from last night. "You know, I am glad that we changed the terms a little bit. We should save all the coin we have. You doing whatever I demand after I win is much more…enticing."

"You leaving me alone when _I _win, you mean. With those kinds of stakes at hand, 'tis impossible for me to even _think _about losing. Not that I was going to," Morrigan responded dryly, watching Zevran from the corner of her eye until they caught up to the Warden and the bard at a nearby tree.

"Oh, Maker," Leliana breathed, looking sorrowful as Nicola knelt down to console the helpless villager who was crying at the base of the tree. "Don't worry, child," she said soothingly, coming to her aid and kneeling as well.

Morrigan remained standing, arms crossed and eyes cool. "Just what seems to be the problem now?" she asked boredly.

Nicola looked up at Morrigan's unconcerned face, her expression worried yet determined. "She needs help," she said, gesturing towards the sniveling child.

"With what? Stopping that insuff-" There was a pointed look from Zevran, and Morrigan stopped dead in her tracks. "I meant, stopping her from crying about whatever devastatingly tragic incident that has befallen her?" She asked, sickeningly sweet.

The Warden didn't deign to verbally respond, and simply pointed up at the tree's highest branches. There, past the foliage, Morrigan spotted what Nicola gestured towards. A kitten clutched at a tree limb, holding on for dear life and mewling at its owner helplessly.

Morrigan gaped, incredulous and full of sarcastic venom. "_Tell _me we're not going to waste our time-"

Zevran sniggered off to the side, interrupting her would-be tirade.

She deflated instantly, looking sullen as thoughts of doing whatever depraved thing Zevran wanted her to do should she lose the bet coming to mind. "That is," she began anew, "…tell me we're not going to waste our time….standing here and…._not…_saving this…Poor. Little. Kitten… from a tree," she ground out.

Nicola eyed her suspiciously, as did Leliana, but neither of them said anything.

Zevran's snigger grew to a full-on laugh, and Morrigan could only grit her teeth. She hoped by the end of the day, they wouldn't be worn down to nubs.

.

.

.

After the kitten incident, they wandered into Denerim for a few errands. Nicola's armor needed to be patched up after a nasty encounter with an emissary, and Morrigan's staff was in desperate need of repair, as one of the cracks in the wood was driving her absolutely batty.

Morrigan hated the city marketplace, what with its large crowds and simpletons galore. The haggling and heckling, the screeching for bargains and all of the children that darted about…Morrigan wondered briefly if her staff was worth it.

"Problem, my dear?" Zevran asked far too politely. "You look—"

"_What?_" Morrigan snapped, daring him to say something. Having found that the best way to win the bet was to stick to monosyllabic words and torturing the palms of her hand with clenched fists, Morrigan didn't dare to say anything more.

"Agitated," he finished casually, a small smirk on his face. It was a wise decision not to say 'constipated' as he had originally intended.

Nicola overheard their conversation, and turned back in concern to address the mage, pinning her with those enchanting green eyes. "You do look a bit odd. Are you feeling all right?" she asked, hand darting out towards Morrigan's forehead to feel for a fever.

Flustered, Morrigan swatted away the Warden's hand. "I'm fine," she hissed. "'Tis merely the heat. And the noise. And the people. And everything else."

Zevran snorted as Leliana also scrutinized Morrigan. "Hmm," she said mysteriously, pointedly looking at one of the tailor's stalls nearby and back to Morrigan.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "What?" she asked again in exasperation.

"You are very beautiful, Morrigan," Leliana said simply, shrugging.

"Hah," Morrigan scoffed. This she could handle. "Tell me something I do not know."

"But you always dress in such rags," Leliana continued, unconcerned by the murderous glare Morrigan sent her away.

"It is true," Zevran crowed gleefully, delighting in the angry flush that was creeping up Morrigan's neck. "A rip here, a tear there."

"To show some skin, I'm sure," said the bard knowingly. "I understand."

"You _understand _that I lived in a forest, do you not?" snarled Morrigan, grinding her teeth once more.

The bard waved her off with a flick of her hand. "Well, yes, but that is no excuse for wearing such ugly, ratty, tattered –"

Delightedly, Zevran positively _giggled_ behind Leliana's back.

"Why you little—"

The angry words that swelled in her throat got caught in her mouth, and she desperately bit them back. Leliana looked at her curiously once more.

"You…little…_helpful_ thing, you," Morrigan finished lamely, before storming off elsewhere with a muttered promise of returning later.

Brow furrowed, Leliana edged towards a chuckling Zevran, whose eyes were twinkling more than usual as he gazed after Morrigan's fleeing form.

"Is Morrigan acting…a little strange today?" The Orlesian asked cautiously.

The elf grinned mischievously. "Funny you should mention it," he replied easily with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "My dear, I would bet on it."


	18. Chapter 17B

_Author's Note: Say hello to your most recent NYU graduate! Sorry it's taken so, so long for an update. I've been disgustingly busy and uncreative, but hopefully this will get those creative juices flowing. I hope all of you are well, and happy Fourth of July weekend to my fellow Americans! (Everyone else have a great normal, non-holiday weekend too.) As always, please read and review, lovelies. (PS, for those who care/read my ME stuff, I swear an update is coming soon as well.)_

_Disclaimer: Unbetaed, not mine, etc. Continuation of part 17A._

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"Are you _sure_ you're all right?" Nicola asked later, once they finished up their respective errands and Zevran and Leliana were nowhere in sight.

Morrigan sighed, less irritably solely because she had no more energy within her. Biting back snide comments all day had been taking its toll. "'Tis more frustrating than charming, the way you hover sometimes, Nicola."

The blonde shrugged, having long built up a tolerance for Morrigan's little barbs. "I dunno, you've been looking more emotionally constipated than usual," she replied.

Morrigan scowled. "How crass, Warden," she deflected.

"Maybe." Nicola stopped abruptly, forcing Morrigan to look at her. They skirted the edges of the marketplace waiting for their companions, and it was much quieter there than in the heart of the bazaar. "Morrigan," Nicola said, her voice soft.

The mage frowned a little. "_What_, Nicola?"

The Warden inched a little closer, and suddenly the air felt just a little bit too thin, making it difficult for Morrigan to breathe. Concerned green eyes filled her vision as she felt Nicola's warm palm rest on her bare shoulder. Any form of physical touching was typically off-limits, but Nicola insisted on being extraordinarily and inexcusably touchy-feely. The apostate had grouchily resigned to a pat on the arm here or there during a conversation, but when Nicola got like _this_, all smooth, inadvertently seductive tones and charming, soft smile, the heat of her hand searing through Morrigan's skin…

Nicola's voice shattered her thoughts. "I'm a little worried. Is there something on your mind?" Nicola asked. Before Morrigan could bite out a response, she held up a silencing hand. "Don't even bother being all witty and cute about it, either. Is it about your mother?"

"Cute? I am never cute." Morrigan grated out, appalled. "And no, it is not about my mother. Flemeth has been dead for months, and especially with her last homicidal venture, I have no sentimental feelings about it."

"Ah-ha!" Nicola burst out with triumph. "So there _is_ something you want to tell me, it's just not about your mother."

"Warden…" Morrigan said warningly, pinching the bridge of her nose. She opted to distract Nicola instead, although typically trying to do so was akin to breaking apart Bandit and his bone. "Where are the elf and the bard?" she asked casually.

The blonde snorted. "Shopping for clothes, so you know they'll be taking forever. Nice try."

Morrigan sighed. "Would it satisfy your curiosity if I were simply to admit there is something on my mind?

"Perhaps."

"Then there is something on my mind," Morrigan admitted, holding up a hand before Nicola could even blurt one syllable. "And I _do not_ wish to discuss it right now," she finished.

Nicola paused, then squinted in scrutiny. Morrigan felt like squirming under that searching gaze but refused to do so, something that apparently inspired acquiescence in the usually persistent Warden.

"All right," Nicola said brightly, a smile on her face. "Let's head back over there," she nodded towards a distant market stall. "They have those honey pastries you like." She grabbed Morrigan's wrist and gently tugged her towards her destination.

Morrigan said nothing, only sighed and succumbed. She did not focus on how Nicola's touch burned deep into the bones of her wrist.

.

.

.

Morrigan stared into the fire, silently and bitterly wishing she could simply leap into it. Or at the very least, shove Zevran into it.

"Morrigan?" Nicola's voice abruptly shattered all thoughts of immolation, and the mage blinked owlishly.

"Yes?"

Alistair narrowed his eyes at her in suspicion. "She's only been asking for you to pass the salt for the past five minutes while you were off daydreaming," he said. "Probably about killing kittens or something," he added, sotto voce. "Or eating children."

"Alistair," Nicola chided while Leliana giggled and hid her smile behind her hand.

"Come now, Morrigan, my dear," Zevran said from across the fire. "Such beauty should not be marred by a scowl like that. It adds years to your appearance."

"Ye-es," Alistair drawled. "You look so much prettier when you…well, I was going to say smile, but I don't think you can without pulling something in your face." He did not notice the increasing redness of Morrigan's face, but Nicola certainly did.

"You guys…" Nicola said, a stern warning in her tone.

"What? I'm only concerned for Morrigan's health," retorted Alistair, his face the absolute picture of innocence. "Pulling a muscle in your face can never be good for you."

"Certainly not," Zevran laughed, casting an insufferably smug look towards Morrigan.

Morrigan's nails dug white half-moons into her palms, and she savagely bit the inside of her cheek in order to keep her mouth shut. She was _not _going to lose, losing was not even an _option_, and certainly she had enough self-control to remain silent and win this stupid bet that she _never should have made_, and -

Suddenly, there was a malodorous, earth-shattering burp right in her ear, one so loud it drowned out the sound of Morrigan's own teeth grinding. Then, a short, stubby arm reached out past Morrigan to grab something; along with it, there was a suspicious and far too thorough brushing against her breasts.

"Sorry," Oghren slurred with a less than innocent grin. "I…uh…slipped."

(Later, Nicola would attest that she saw smoke coming out of Morrigan's ears. Now, however, she could only cringe in the face of impending doom and wish she could duck for cover.)

Morrigan simply _exploded_.

"Since you cannot keep your _fat, disgusting hands to yourself_," she shouted, grabbing one of Oghren's meaty hands and wrenching it at the wrist in a painful manner, _"perhaps I should take one of them."_

"Argh! Let go, you crazy witch!"

"You drunken, nug-defiling bastard," Morrigan snarled. She complied with one last angry twist despite Oghren's yelps, only to whirl and point an accusatory finger at Alistair, black flames lighting up her palm. "And _you_," she hissed.

(Later, Alistair would say that he most certainly did _not_ wet his pants and that he only needed to change them afterwards because he got mud on them.)

"Um," he gulped.

Morrigan was practically foaming at the mouth. "You would _dare_ insult me so when it is you who cannot even cook one simple mealthat does not remind one of swamp water and the muck on the bottom of your boots," she raged. "You, who cannot look at a wall without finding the paint drying utterly fascinating, you who has the mental capacity of a farm pig as well as the stench of one!" The flames on her hand shone brighter, the blackness of them all-encompassing. "I have killed fruit flies smarter than you, and I could kill you much more easily!"

Leliana was next. "And do not even dare to believe you are safe from my wrath, you incompetent little fool! I do not know why you think the Warden would ever find you attractive when you are as skinny and bedraggled as a boy, as frigid as a cold, dead fish, as shapeless as a stale loaf of bread-"

(Some loaves of Orlesian bread were extremely curvaceous, Leliana would protest to no one later.)

"_Morrigan_," Nicola interrupted, her tone sharp. "Come on, that's enough," she said softly, trying to lower her voice in a calming manner.

But the mage was not to be dissuaded, and finally, she turned on Nicola. "No, Warden, it is _not enough_." Her voice cut like a knife. "Much like it is _not enough_ for you to just be friends with me. 'Tis apparently _not enough_ to make me trust you, you must also make me—"

Here, Morrigan faltered and paled, catching herself at the last moment. _Want you_, she had almost said. Reality abruptly shattered the haze of her rage. Morrigan recovered quickly enough, but all the fire of her fury had faded, and in its place was a scowling, cold mask of feigned indifference. She stormed off without another word, stomping all the way back to her tent with as much dignity as she could muster.

Nicola stared after her, gaping, and only an awkward cough broke the silence.

"So…er…you wanted the salt?" Alistair asked meekly, holding the item in question out towards Nicola.

(Later, Alistair would say that he gave quite the manly shout when Nicola snarled at him, and did not, as the others would attest, scream like a frightened little girl.)

.

.

.

She stared moodily at the lake, the moonlight's reflection the only source of brightness in the darkened wood. Hearing a tree branch snap and the familiar sound of footsteps, Morrigan crossed her arms and summoned electricity into one of her palms, holding the hand up without looking back.

"I think it would be most obvious to even the dullest of creatures that I am not one to be approached right now," she threatened. "But, if you desire to test my patience further…"

Zevran chuckled. "I do not have a death wish right now, my dear. I have simply come to—"

"To gloat? Or to be decapitated?"

"Neither. I intended only to apologize," he replied.

"'Tis a waste of time."

"It most certainly is not," Zevran protested. "I should not have insulted you so. It was…unbecoming and ungentlemanly," he said. "Not to mention, unsportsmanlike. And for that, I apologize."

Morrigan said nothing, only stopped the current of electricity flowing through her hand and lowered it back to her side.

"Winning our foolish bet in such a way seems to diminish the victory, if I could even call it that," he continued smoothly. "Truly you were the paragon of self-control, the epitome of strength and discipline, the absolute picture of self-restraint!"

"Well," Morrigan said, preening. "Perhaps—"

"—That is until…well, you weren't," Zevran grinned. "As much as it pains me to admit it," he said, looking absolutely delighted, "it seems that I have won, my dear."

"…I hate you so much."

"You wound me, you lovely woman."

"Not yet," she threatened. "Trust that you will most certainly know it when I do, as it will be quite fatal."

He laughed cheerfully. "You cannot be part of the Crows and have such a fear of death," Zevran retorted. "But since you are such an honorable person," – here, Morrigan bit back a snort – "I know that you will accept your defeat and subsequently, the terms of my reward, before I take my leave."

"You would not make a very good fortune-teller."

He smiled almost fondly, but said nothing. He stood, waiting expectantly and lifting an eyebrow.

Morrigan sighed in exasperation. "If it will get you to stop pestering me…"

"Of course, of course."

"I will regret saying this, but… what do you require of me?" she asked, expression sour. "And I trust that you will remember that anything involving touching you in a non-violent manner is strictly out of the question."

He looked smug, ignoring her. "Despite my limitless freedom to make you do anything-" Zevran paused, then grinned lasciviously. "Well, _almost_ anything I desire, I demand only one thing, my dear."

"Get on with it," she snapped.

"I demand that you tell Nicola."

"What, of this idiotic bet? Is that all?" she mocked. "I should have foreseen that a small mind such as yours could not come up with anything grandiose. But perhaps that is in my favor."

Zevran's smirk was the epitome of self-satisfaction, although he remained cool. "No…I demand that you tell Nicola _how you feel_."

Morrigan paled, but weakly shrugged in a pantomime of ignorance. "About the weather? Her hairstyle? Her choice of armor?"

"No," he said firmly. "Tell her how you secretly look forward to your late night chats despite complaining that she bothers you so, how you blush when she touches you, how you grumble and scowl to yourself when Leliana bats her eyes at her. Tell her how you look at her every time you think she isn't looking, how you try to hide how she makes you smile-"

"That is enough, you-"

"-how you almost admitted how much you want Nicola tonight, and how the idea of wanting her and saying as much frightens you so."

"Leave me be!" she roared. "You will regret_ ever_-"

Morrigan froze suddenly, her gaze focusing on something behind Zevran. She turned as white as a sheet.

"Zevran," Nicola said. "If you could please excuse us." It wasn't a request so much as a command.

He turned to face the suddenly-present Warden, his smile as soft as her voice. "Certainly, my dear." Zevran cast one last significant look towards Morrigan before he left, although she was too stunned to notice. Her eyes never left Nicola's.

"Warden, I…how long have you been standing there?" Morrigan spluttered. "Are you so ill-mannered as to eavesdrop? So rude, so—"

"Is what he said true?" Nicola asked, ignoring Morrigan's attempt at saving face and stepping slowly, cautiously towards her.

She scoffed, her lies and discomfort quite obvious. "O-of course not, do not be so foolish. I would never-"

"Because...because it frightens me too," Nicola admitted, so close to Morrigan that she could feel the other woman's body heat. "Wanting you this much."

Morrigan couldn't move, couldn't speak, not when Nicola was so close and her mouth even closer. "I…I…"

"The impetuous apostate finally speechless?" Nicola said, her voice fond. Her expression sobered, molded into a soft gaze that almost burned Morrigan with its intensity. "I think Zevran's said enough for both of us, don't you think?" Nicola lifted her hand tentatively, brushing fingertips as light as feathers against Morrigan's heated cheek, her intentions clear.

The ice in her veins melted, but Morrigan still did not move, her spine impossibly stiff. "Do...Do not do anything you will regret, Nicola," she warned, albeit weakly.

"I won't," Nicola promised, and kissed her.

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.

When they returned to camp much later, Nicola's hair was in slight disarray and Morrigan's robes were a little askew. With one small but significant touch of her hand on Morrigan's, Nicola left Morrigan at her tent in order to take first watch. Morrigan was so immersed in watching Nicola's retreating backside that she did not notice Zevran discreetly sidle up to her, grinning.

"…So…" he began coyly. "I take it that you and the Warden had…shall we say, a nice time?"

Morrigan cleared her throat, ignoring the heat creeping up her neck at the memories. "Certainly," she deadpanned. "We had a delightful conversation in which we discussed the benefits of washing one's hair with lye soap rather than oils. Oh, and we discussed the latest Orlesian fashions," she lied, her tone bone dry.

Zevran laughed quite heartily. "Is that what they're calling it these days?" he mused. "I wonder, Morrigan, despite your loss…have I turned you into a betting woman?"

"Perhaps."

He grinned. "I do so love to win. Maybe I could interest you in another wager?"

"Small chance of that, but speak if you must," Morrigan acquiesced.

"Now this one is for money, because Leliana and I came across the most delightful leather tunic today at the market, and I am a little short on coin," he explained as Morrigan eyed him warily. "I bet you_ three sovereigns_," Zevran said dramatically, "that you could not go a full day without kissing Nicola at least once."

Morrigan watched Nicola sharpen her sword by the fire, barely hiding the sparkle in her eyes when the Warden looked up and caught her eye with a wink and a grin.

"Morrigan?" Zevran prompted.

"What?" Morrigan said, startled out of her reverie. "Oh."

"Well?"

"Forget it, elf," she said dismissively, shooing him away.

"Why?" he asked, petulant. He was certain her competitive nature would never let her back down from a challenge, especially after today's antics.

"A foolish wager like that?" Morrigan scoffed, looking at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world. Or Alistair.

"Yes?"

"_That_, I would most certainly not hesitate to lose."


	19. Chapter 18

_In which shit gets real (and you probably find that hard to believe with an introduction such as this),_

_I know super long author's notes are really irritating, but I feel as though this had to be said, so please bear with me._

_This was the first story I published on this site. I apparently finally got the ovaries to get over myself and just write and put it out there last August. This all seems like a very long time ago, even though that was just last year._

_As I find myself running out of the time and ideas needed for this collection of one-shots, I have to admit (albeit, really fucking reluctantly) that this should all probably come to an end. On the off chance that any more Nicola/Morrigan ideas strike me, I will add them to this series, but for the most part, it would probably be best if this were labeled as 'complete' because I hate giving the possibility of an update when there really isn't one. These are just a few little drabbles/brain farts left on my hard drive, because I didn't want to be an ass just posting an author's note, but seriously: if I said everything I wanted to say to my readers of this story, it would be longer than this chapter. Thank you guys so, SO much for reading, reviewing, and just sticking with me. This was my first real foray back to fanfiction in almost a decade and all of it: the process, the planning, the writing, your feedback...everything, has inspired me to write once more and to keep on doing so._

_Reading and writing are so utterly important, so keep on doing both. Fuck the people that brush off fanfiction because it's not 'real' work. Reading is the most amazing thing you can do and writing is probably the hardest. The written language is a beautiful thing, whether you like reading Rand or Poe or s3xiimami and Spock/Indy Jones slash on ._

_Nonetheless, as invaluable as I find words to be, sometimes they fail to express what one really means to say, so I'll say it in the simplest, most sincere way possible._

_Thank you._

* * *

**First Kiss**

The ogre tosses both of them solidly against a wall; Nicola catches most of the impact, having turned at the last second to protect the far less armored Morrigan, but ultimately, they both just end up in a sad little heap.

"Maker…" Nicola grunts, wincing as the ogre lets out a roar in the distance, Sten having finally landed the fatal blow. "Are you all right?"

"Never better. Isn't this romantic?" Morrigan gripes, pushing herself off of Nicola's body and sitting up with a grimace.

Nicola blames her bravado on the adrenaline from the fight, the strange tension between the two of them for the past few weeks, and very possibly, just the way Morrigan looks, all cute and disheveled, robes askew: whatever it is, it makes Nicola give in and simply kiss her.

When she pulls away, breathless, she notes the flush in Morrigan's cheeks, the way she licks her lips as though to savor the taste, the way her eyelids flutter slowly open, with far too much delight.

"What a fine time for a first kiss," Morrigan says, the self-satisfied smirk taking any acidity out of her words.

"Plenty more where that came from," Nicola replies lightly. It is a joke only to ease the tension, to keep from scaring Morrigan away with how serious the pounding in her chest is. But in her heart she knows the truth all too well. She will make sure that whether it is time or kisses for Morrigan, she will always have more than enough.

**Tomorrow**

"So…so then he says," Nicola says, her laugh too forced, too rough. "'Are you a mage? Because I'm feeling utterly bewitched'!" She shakes her head, her smile not reaching her eyes. "How….how pathetic," she mumbles.

The room is dark, and so is the sky – it is that strange time between night and morning where all there is is the wind and darkness. There is a rustle of sheets as Nicola shifts, edging closer to Morrigan's body and curling into the other woman's warmth.

"Do you regret this, Warden?" Morrigan says softly, breaking the silence.

"What, magically having you conceive my child so that it harbors the soul of an Old God that may or may not wreak further havoc in the future, just so that I could live?" Nicola snorts into her pillow before trailing her fingertips briefly down Morrigan's cheek. "Don't be ridiculous."

The wry grin on Nicola's face is as charming as always, but this time, it cannot dissipate the strange feeling churning in Morrigan's chest. "How can you be so glib? Even now, you deign to make light with your stupid jokes?" Morrigan asks, her voice a combination of bitterness and irritation.

"I'm sorry," Nicola sighs, more out of frustration at herself than Morrigan. "I am," she whispers, pressing her body closer to the mage's in apology. "I just…after tomorrow, whether I live or die on the battlefield, you say I'll never see you again. Nor will I see the…._our_… child."

"Must you talk this to death? What's done is done, and I do not wish to discuss this further," Morrigan says, stiffening in Nicola's arms.

"Stop," comes the blonde's soft request, dusting a kiss across Morrigan's lips briefly. "I'm not bringing it up to argue about it anymore. I'm just trying to explain."

"Explain away," Morrigan says, her tone an interesting combination of fond irritation.

Nicola sobers, holding Morrigan's gaze with her own. "I make light of it because it's easier for me to deal with. I make stupid jokes because I can't face the reality of tomorrow, and I don't know what I worry about more: that you won't be around to hear my dumb jokes or that I won't be around to tell them." She strokes Morrigan's hair so lightly that she already feels like a ghost. "So let me be more selfish than I already am. Let me pretend that tonight is just like every other night, and not our last one together."

For a second, the way Morrigan looks at her just breaks her heart: it is the most honest, most open she has ever seen the other woman. Then, the expression is gone, masked by Morrigan's beautiful, beautiful smile, and Nicola cannot complain.

"Well, then. Let us end this night the way we end every other night," she murmurs, giving Nicola a kiss that makes her toes curl, and her heart sing.

**Agony**

The sting of Morrigan's slap burns almost as much as the heated press of her lips against Nicola's. _You will regret this, _Morrigan says, her face as cloudy as the stormy sky above. _And so will I. _

_ Maybe you will,_ Nicola says. _But I never could_.

Morrigan almost believes her.

**Beautiful**

Morrigan looks insufferably smug as her robes drop to the ground with a whisper, leaving her deliciously nude in the moonlight. "So," she preens, "the usually articulate Warden is rendered speechless at the sight of me?"

The grin that Nicola gives her is absolutely sinful. "No, darling. Talking just isn't exactly what I had in mind…"

**Diary**

She stumbles across Leliana's diary and shows it unabashedly to the Warden, despite Nicola's emphatic protests to return it. As much as the blonde grouses about privacy, she laughs in delighted amusement when Morrigan points out something in the margins.

"Leliana Cousland," Nicola reads aloud, grinning smugly.

Morrigan merely sniffs and looks unaffected; however, when Leliana asks about her missing parchment later, Morrigan simply shrugs and says, pointing at their makeshift latrine, "We ran out of leaves."

**Conditional**

"Love is unconditional, Morrigan," Nicola chides.

"Nonsense," Morrigan retorts. "There are always conditions. You shall not share your bed with someone else, you shall not make me unhappy, you shall not disagree with whatever I say for I am always right…_those_ are the conditions of love that I have witnessed. People are idiots."

"Funny," Nicola drawls, tugging at Morrigan's robes. "I'm fairly sure you have given me those exact conditions before. Perhaps in not so many words, but…quite conditional, if you ask me."

"Good thing no one did," Morrigan retorts irritably, although she tilts her head back to allow Nicola's mouth to explore her neck further.

"Oh, Morrigan," murmurs the Warden, dragging her teeth against fair skin for a moment, earning a tiny little gasp. "I think I just got a love confession out of you," she teases.

She entangles her fingers in Nicola's hair, nails scraping. "You did not," she hisses, both in pleasure and anger, as Nicola's tongue soothes the bite.

"Yes. Well. Do not disagree with me," Nicola intones, grinning wickedly as she runs her hands up and down Morrigan's bare sides. "For I am always right."

**Return**

"Do you know that stupid adage about if you let something go, if it's really love, it'll come back?

"All adages are stupid," Morrigan grumbles, staring into the fire.

Nicola laughs, something she hasn't done for days, not since Morrigan slapped her, had begged her to end whatever all 'this' was. "You're right. But that one's especially stupid."

"Is that so?" Morrigan asks hollowly, refusing to return Nicola's gaze.

"Yes," Nicola says, lifting Morrigan's chin with a fingertip and forcing those amber eyes to meet her own. "Because if you love someone so much, I don't think you can ever really let them go to begin with."

"Nicola…" Morrigan practically begs, although she does not know for what.

"Stay with me," Nicola murmurs.

And Morrigan does.


End file.
